"I would rather be alone," sighed the young wife.
"What has come over thee, Sophy Cotton?" said the old woman, coming up to her and laying her hand on her shoulder, while she peered earnestly into her face. "I never saw such a cruel change in a young cretur in the course of a few weeks! But there may be a cause—a natural cause," and she smiled significantly.
"No, no, thank goodness! You are wrong—quite wrong, Mrs. Martin. No child of mine will ever sport upon my threshold, or gather daisies beside my door; and I am thankful—so thankful, that it is so!"
"That's hardly in natur'. Most o' womankind love young children—'specially their own."
"My dear Mrs. Cotton," said Sarah soothingly, "you look ill and miserable; do tell us what makes you so unhappy."
"Indeed, Sarah, I can't." And Sophy wept afresh.
"Is Noah cross to you?"
"Quite the reverse—he's the kindest of men."
"He looks very stern."
"His looks belie him."