"It's enough to make any one sad, to see that poor patient woman sitting there week after week and year after year, watching other people do what she is crazy to do herself. But that isn't the worst. Lately, it seems to us," Nan paused and stared at the girls tragically, "as if poor Aunt Emma were losing her mind!"
The girls cried out, shocked:
"Oh, Nan, you never mean that!"
"The few times I have spoken to her she seemed unusually quick-witted," protested Jo.
Nan nodded.
"She doesn't talk much any more, though, and when she does she says—funny things. Too much brooding, Dad says. He believes that if something would only happen to shock her out of this state of mind and give her a new interest in life, she might have a chance. As it is, we are all dreadfully worried about her."
They had been walking slowly toward town.
"If we want to get home in time for dinner," Sadie observed, "I guess we'll just about have to run!"
They did run, but on reaching the outskirts of the town they slowed their progress to a quick but decorous walk. They had not gone more than two or three blocks, however, when Jo stopped and sniffed the air in a curious manner.
"What's wrong with you?" Sadie wanted to know. "You look like a pointer dog."