I cannot clearly call to mind, but think it must have been that day, when I was in the corner of the room, looking at the place whence they had taken dear mother. Ann Maples and Mrs. Huxtable came in, followed by the farmer, who had left his shoes at the door. They did not see me, so I suppose it must have been in the evening. They were come to remove the sofa. I have not the heart to follow their brogue.
"Yes to be sure," said Mrs. Huxtable, looking at it with a short sigh. It was odd that it should strike me then, but all she did was short.
"Get it out of her sight, poor dear," said Ann Maples.
"To see her sit and look at it!" exclaimed the farmer's wife.
"With her eyes so dry and stupid like!" returned the other. "Poor child, she must have cried herself out. I have known her sit by the hour, and stare at the bed where her father was killed, but it was a different sort of look to this."
"Ah well, she has lost a good mother," said Dame Huxtable. "God grant my poor little chicks may never be left like her."
"What's your children to talk of along with Miss Clara?" asked my nurse.
Mrs. Huxtable was about to answer sharply, but checked herself, and only said:
"All children is much of a muchness to their mothers."
"Don't tell me," cried Ann Maples, who had never had any.