Mrs. Peters. I don't know, unless it got sick and died.
[She reaches over and swings the broken door, swings it again, both women watch it.]
Mrs. Hale. You weren't raised round here, were you? [Mrs. Peters shakes her head.] You didn't know—her?
Mrs. Peters. Not till they brought her yesterday.
Mrs. Hale. She—come to think of it, she was kind of like a bird herself—real sweet and pretty, but kind of timid and—fluttery. How—she—did—change. [Silence; then as if struck by a happy thought and relieved to get back to every day things.] Tell you what, Mrs. Peters, why don't you take the quilt in with you? It might take up her mind.
Mrs. Peters. Why, I think that's a real nice idea, Mrs. Hale. There couldn't possibly be any objection to it, could there? Now, just what would I take? I wonder if her patches are in here—and her things.
[They look in the sewing basket.]
Mrs. Hale. Here's some red. I expect this has got sewing things in it. [Brings out a fancy box.] What a pretty box. Looks like something somebody would give you. Maybe her scissors are in here. [Opens box. Suddenly puts her hand to her nose.] Why—[Mrs. Peters bends nearer, then turns her face away.] There's something wrapped up in this piece of silk.
Mrs. Peters. Why, this isn't her scissors.
Mrs. Hale [lifting the silk]. Oh, Mrs. Peters—it's—