ois' shoulder and tried to force her gently
backward, but the girl resisted.

"Don't, mother," said she. "I don't want to lie down."

Amanda had run into her own room for the camphor bottle. Now she
leaned over Lois and put it to her nose. "Jest smell of this a
little," she said. Lois pushed it away feebly.

"I guess Lois will have to take a little vacation," said Mr. Starr.
"I guess I shall have to see about it, and let her have a little
rest."

He was one of the school committee.

"I don't need any vacation," said Lois, in a peremptory tone.

"I guess we shall have to see about it," repeated Mr. Starr. There
was an odd undertone of decision in his drawling voice. He was a
large man, with a pleasant face full of double curves. "Good-day,"
said he, after a minute. "I guess I must be goin'."

"Good-day," said Lois. "I'm much obliged to you for bringing me
home."

"You're welcome."

Amanda nodded politely when he withdrew, but Mrs. Field never looked
at him. She stood with her eyes fixed upon Lois.

"What are you looking at me so for, mother?" said Lois, impatiently,
turning her own face away.

Mrs. Field sank down on her knees before the sofa. "Oh, my child!"
she wailed. "My child! my child!"

She threw her arms around the girl's slender waist, and clung to her
convulsively. Lois cast a terrified glance up at Amanda.

"Does she think I ain't going to get well?" she asked, as if her
mother were not present.

"Of course she don't," replied Amanda, with decision. She stooped and
took hold of Mrs. Field's shoulders. "Now look here, Mis' Field,"
said she, "you ain't actin' like yourself. You're goin' to make Lois
sick, if she ain't now, if you go on this way. You get up an' make
her a cup of tea, an' get her somethin' to eat. Ten chances to one,
that's all that ailed her. I don't believe she's eat enough to-day to
keep a cat alive."

"I know all about it," moaned Mrs. Field. "It's jest what I expected.
Oh, my child! my child! I have prayed an' done all I could, an' now
it's come to this. I've got to give up. Oh, my child! my child!"

It was to this mother as though her daughter was not there, although
she held her in her arms. She was in that abandon of grief which is
the purest selfishness.

Amanda fairly pulled her to her feet. "Mis' Field, I'm ashamed of
you!" said she, severely. "I should think you were beside yourself.
Here's Lois better--"

"No, she ain't better. I know."

Mrs. Field straighte