“No,” she cried out, “she ain't well; she's sick. She wa'n't fit to go to school. She couldn't hardly crawl out of the yard. She ain't got home, an' I'm terrible worried. I dun'no' but she's fell down.”
“Maybe she just thought she wouldn't come home.”
“No; that ain't it. She never did such a thing as that without saying something about it; she'd know I'd worry.”
Mrs. Field craned her neck farther over the gate, and peered down the road. Beside the gate stood two tall bushes, all white with flowers that grew in long white racemes, and they framed her distressed face.
“Look here, Mrs. Field,” said the girl, “I'll tell you what I'll do. The school-house isn't much beyond my house; I'll just run over there and see if there's anything the matter; then I'll come back right off, and let you know.”
“Oh, will you?”
“Of course I will. Now don't you worry, Mrs. Field; I don't believe it's anything.”
The girl nodded back at her with her pretty smile; then she sped away with a light tilting motion. Mrs. Field stood a few minutes longer, then she went up the steps into the house. She opened Amanda Pratt's door instead of her own, and went through the sitting-room to the kitchen, from whence she could hear the clink of dishes.
“Lois ain't got home yet,” said she, standing in the doorway.
Amanda set down the dish she was wiping. “Mis' Field, what do you mean?”