"Yes, I guess I must. I've got to be home by half-past five to get
supper, an' I thought I'd jest look in at Mis' Field's a minute. Do
you s'pose she's to home?"

"I shouldn't wonder if she was. I ain't seen her go out anywhere."

"Well, I dun'no' when I've been in there, an' I dun'no' but she'd
think it was kinder queer if I went right into the house and didn't
go near her."

Amanda arose, letting the mat slide to the floor, and went into the
bedroom to get Mrs. Babcock's bonnet and light shawl.

"I wish you wouldn't be in such a hurry," said she, using the village
formula of hospitality to a departing guest.

"It don't seem to me I've been in much of a hurry. I've stayed here
the whole afternoon."

Suddenly Mrs. Babcock, pinning on her shawl, thrust her face close to
Amanda's. "I want to know if it's true Lois Field is so miserable?"
she whispered.

"Well, I dun'no'. She don't look jest right, but she an' her mother
won't own up but what she's well."

"Goin' the way Mis' Maxwell did, ain't she?"

"I dun'no'. I'm worried about her myself--dreadful worried. Lois is a