Jane Field

had on her best black dress, her black shawl and gloves, and her best bonnet. The three women stared at her. She

Mis' Field?" cried Mrs. Ba

l left it to Flora Maxwell if my sister didn't outlive him. I shouldn't have had a cent. I stole it. I thought my daughter would die if we didn't have it an' get away from Green River; but that wa'n't any excuse. Edward Maxwell had that fifteen hundred dollars of my husband's, an' I never had a cent of it; but that wa'n't any excuse. I thought I'd jest stay here an' carry it out till I

were white. Amanda was catching her breath in faint gasps. Jane

wn the street. At the first house she stopped, went up to the door and rang the bell. When a woman answered her ring, she looked at her and said, "I ain't Esther Maxwell!" Then she

pelted across the yard in a panic to compare notes with her neighbors. She kept o

he broke away. There was about her a terrible mental impetus which intimidated. People st

xwell caught hold of her dress, but she let go, and leaned trembling over her

met. Some she had told before, but she did not know it. She said them to a little girl in a white frock, with her hair freshly curled, carrying a doll, and she ran away crying with fright. She said them to three barefooted boys loping along in the dust, with berry-pails, and they laughed and turned around and mocked her, calling the words after her. When she went up the path

rs, the minister and his wife, Daniel Tuxbury, his sister and her daughter, Mrs. Jane Maxwell an

nd is affected," he declared with loud importance. "She is Esther Maxwell.

e Field, in her voice that was as

forward and

she moaned

o know it, all of you. Lois wa'n't to blame. She didn't know until after I'd done it. She wante

on't, don't!

now to be laid in stone. Not a muscle of Jane Field's face changed. She kept repeating at intervals, in p

set. She clung to her familiar needle as if it were a rope to save her from

oke. She was pale, and h

pretty work

e cried. "I'd like to know what business your folks had takin' her money an' keepin' it. She wa'n't goin'

laid her hand on her arm wh

' how I've been luggin' my own things out of this house, an' no

keep still,

er. "Let's you an' me get her in her bedroom, an' have her lay down on the bed, a

t once turne

ther Maxwel

to judge you," returned Mrs. Green, in her te

"She'd better go in her bedroom where it's quiet, or sh

dn't be good for her?" said Mrs. Jane Max

ine," rejoined Mrs. Babcock fiercely.

had been the ones to suffer, an' now we shan't never go to law, nor make any fuss about it. I ain't goin' to stay here an' be talked to so any longer if I know, es

d silken draperies fluttering as if her ow

on her one strain. She was singularly docile in all but that. Mrs. Green dropped on her knees beside the bed and prayed. When she said amen, Jane Field called out her confession as if in the ear of God. They sent for the

s. Babcock to Mrs. Green, "and I be

e groove. Gradually she seemed more like herself, and her mind was in other respects apparently

dress from the minister's with Francis. The new joy in Lois's face affected her lik

E