“You ain't told me anything I didn't know,” replied Mrs. Field.
Mrs. Green felt for one of her distorted hands; she held it a second, then she dropped it. Mrs. Field let it hang stiffly the while. It was a fervent demonstration to them, the evidence of unwonted excitement and the deepest feeling. When Mrs. Field entered her sitting-room, the first object that met her eyes was Lois' face. She was tilted back in the rocking-chair, her slender throat was exposed, her lips were slightly parted, and there was a glassy gleam between her half-open eyelids. Her mother stood looking at her.
Suddenly Lois opened her eyes wide and sat up. “What are you standing there looking at me so for, mother?” she said, in her weak, peevish voice.
“I ain't lookin' at you, child. I've jest come home from meetin'. I guess you've been asleep.”
“I haven't been asleep a minute. I heard you open the outside door.”
Mrs. Field's hand verged toward the letter in her pocket. Then she began untying her bonnet.
Lois arose, and lighted another lamp. “Well, I guess I'll go to bed,” said she.
“Wait a minute,” her mother returned.
Lois paused inquiringly.
“Never mind,” her mother said, hastily. “You needn't stop. I can tell you jest as well to-morrow.”