n right on to folks; and you can't seem to shake
'em off, no more than them spiteful little stick-tights that get all
over your clo'es.... This room right next belonged to their baby. Let
me see; she must have been about three and a half or four years old
when they took her away. See, there's a door in between, so Mrs.
Bolton could get to her quick in the night. I used to be that way,
too, with my children.... You know we lost our two little girls that
same winter, three and five, they were. But I know I wanted 'em right
where I could hear 'em if they asked for a drink of water, or like
that, in the night. Folks has a great notion now-a-days of putting
their babies off by themselves and letting them cry it out, as they
say. But I couldn't ever do that; and Mrs. Andrew Bolton she wa'n't
that kind of a parent, either-- I don't know as they ought to be
called _mothers_. No, she was more like me--liked to tuck the
blankets around her baby in the middle of th' night an' pat her down
all warm and nice. I've often wondered what became of that poor
little orphan child. We never heard. Like enough she died. I
shouldn't wonder."

And Mrs. Daggett wiped the ready tears from her eyes.

"But I guess you'll think I'm a real old Aunty Doleful, going on this
way," she made haste to add.

"There's plenty of folks in Brookville as 'll tell you how stuck-up
an' stylish Mrs. Andrew Bolton was, always dressed in silk of an
afternoon and driving out with a two-horse team, an' keeping two
hired girls constant, besides a man to work in her flower garden and
another for the barn. But of course she supposed they were really
rich and could afford it. _He_ never let on to _her_, after things
begun to go to pieces; and folks blamed her for it, afterwards. Her
heart was weak, and he knew it, all along. And then I suppose he
thought mebbe things would take a turn.... Yes; the paper in this
room was white with little wreaths of pink roses tied up with blue
ribbons all over it. 'Twas furnished up real pretty with white
furniture, and there was ruffled muslin curtains with dots on 'em at
the windows and over the bed; Mrs. Andrew Bolton certainly did fix
things up pretty, and to think you're going to have it just the same
way. Well, I will say you couldn't do any better.... But, land! if
there isn't the sun going down behind the hill, and me way out here,
with Henry's supper to get, and Dolly champing his bit impatient.
There's one lucky thing, thoug