"but I don't know as I blame you, the way folks talk. You'd think
they'd have forgot all about it by now, wouldn't you? But land! it
does seem as if bad thoughts and mean thoughts, and like that, was
possessed to fasten right on to folks; and you can't seem to shake
'em off, no more than them spiteful little stick-tights that get all
over your clo'es.... This room right next belonged to their baby. Let
me see; she must have been about three and a half or four years old
when they took her away. See, there's a door in between, so Mrs.
Bolton could get to her quick in the night. I used to be that way,
too, with my children.... You know we lost our two little girls that
same winter, three and five, they were. But I know I wanted 'em right
where I could hear 'em if they asked for a drink of water, or like
that, in the night. Folks has a great notion now-a-days of putting
their babies off by themselves and letting them cry it out, as they
say. But I couldn't ever do that; and Mrs. Andrew Bolton she wa'n't
that kind of a parent, either-- I don't know as they ought to be
called _mothers_. No, she was more like me--liked to tuck the
blankets around her baby in the middle of th' night an' pat her down
all warm and nice. I've often wondered what became of that poor
little orphan child. We never heard. Like enough she died. I
shouldn't wonder."

And Mrs. Daggett wiped the ready tears from her eyes.

"But I guess you'll think I'm a real old Aunty Doleful, going on this
way," she made haste to add.

"There's plenty of folks in Brookville as 'll tell you how stuck-up
an' stylish Mrs. Andrew Bolton was, always dressed in silk of an
afternoon and driving out with a two-horse team, an' keeping two