The farmer’s eyes rolled like the planets on the clock face.
“Let me go and see,” said Mis’ Overfield, rising slowly and going toward the case, which seemed to quiver as she advanced, supporting herself by the backs of the chairs.
The nervous fancies of little Liddy could not be repressed. She called in an atmospheric voice:
“Mis’ Overfield, be careful how you open that clock door.”
Mis’ Overfield stopped.
“Why, Liddy, you distress me. The things that you say go to my nerves. Why, Liddy, should I be afraid to open the clock door?”
“Suppose, Mis’ Overfield—dare I say it—suppose you should find a dead body there?”
Mis’ Overfield leaned on the back of a chair, and Liddy added in an awesome tone:
“A girl’s—your own flesh and blood, Mis’ Overfield.”
Farmer Overfield leaned back in his chair.