en Mrs. Babcock faced her. "I should call it pretty work for
somebody else besides poor Mis' Field," she cried. "I'd like to know
what business your folks had takin' her money an' keepin' it. She
wa'n't goin' to take any more than belonged to her, an' she had a
perfect right to, accordin' to my way of thinkin'."

Mrs. Maxwell gasped. Flora laid her hand on her arm when she tried to
speak again.

"I'm goin' to tell her how I've been without a decent dress, an' how
I've been luggin' my own things out of this house, an' now I've got
to lug 'em all back again," she whispered defiantly.

"Mother, you keep still," said Flora.

Mrs. Green went across the room and put her arm around Lois, standing
by her mother. "Let's you an' me get her in her bedroom, an' have her
lay down on the bed, an' try an' quiet her," she whispered. "She's
all unstrung. Mebbe she'll be better."

Mrs. Field at once turned toward her.

"I ain't Esther Maxwell," said she.

"O Mis' Field! oh, poor woman! it ain't for us to judge you,"
returned Mrs. Green, in her tender, inexpressibly solemn voice.
"Come, Lois."

"Yes, that'll be a good plan," chimed in Mrs. Babcock. "She'd better
go in her bedroom where it's quiet, or she'll wind up with a fever.
There's too many folks here."

"I wonder if some of my currant wine wouldn't be good for her?" said
Mrs. Jane Maxwell, with an air of irrepressible virtue.

"She don't want none of your currant wine," rejoined Mrs. Babcock
fiercely. "She's suffered enough by your family."

"I guess you needn't be so mighty smart," returned Mrs. Maxwell,
jerking her arm away from Flora. "I dunno of anything she's suffered.
I should think Flora an' me had been the ones to suffer, an' now we
shan't never go to law, nor make any fuss about it. I ain't goin' to
stay here an' be talked to so any longer if I know, especially by
folks that ain't got any business meddlin' with it, anyway. I suppose
this is my daughter's house, an' I've got a perfect right in it, but
I'm a-goin'."

Mrs. Jane Maxwell went out, her ribbons and silken draperies
fluttering as if her own indignation were a wind, but Flora stayed.

The women led Jane Field into her little bedroom, took off her bonnet
and shawl and dress as if she were dead, and made her lie down. They
bathed her head with camphor, they plied her with soothing arguments,
but she kept on her one strain. She was singularly docile in all but
that. Mrs. Green dropped on her knees besi