kindness. "There couldn't possibly be any objection to that, could
there? Now, just what will I take? I wonder if her patches are in
here--and her things."

They turned to the sewing basket.

"Here's some red," said Mrs. Hale, bringing out a roll of cloth.
Underneath that was a box. "Here, maybe her scissors are in here--and
her things." She held it up. "What a pretty box! I'll warrant that was
something she had a long time ago--when she was a girl."

She held it in her hand a moment; then, with a little sigh, opened it.

Instantly her hand went to her nose.

"Why--!"

Mrs. Peters drew nearer--then turned away.

"There's something wrapped up in this piece of silk," faltered Mrs.
Hale.

"This isn't her scissors," said Mrs. Peters, in a shrinking voice.

Her hand not steady, Mrs. Hale raised the piece of silk. "Oh, Mrs.
Peters!" she cried. "It's--"

Mrs. Peters bent closer.

"It's the bird," she whispered.

"But, Mrs. Peters!" cried Mrs. Hale. "_Look_ at it! Its _neck_--look at
its neck! It's all--other side _to_."

She held the box away from her.

The sheriff's wife again bent closer.

"Somebody wrung its neck," said she, in a voice that was slow and deep.

And then again the eyes of the two women met--this time clung together
in a look of dawning comprehension, of growing horror. Mrs. Peters
looked from the dead bird to the broken door of the cage. Again their
eyes met. And just then there was a sound at the outside door.

Mrs. Hale slipped the box under the quilt pieces in the basket, and sank
into the chair before it. Mrs. Peters stood holding to the table. The
county attorney and the sheriff came in from outside.

"Well, ladies," said the county attorney, as one turning from serious
things to little pleasantries, "have you decided whether she was going
to quilt it or knot it?"

"We think," began the sheriff's wife in a flurried voice, "that she was
going to--knot it."

He was too preoccupied to notice the change that came in her voice on
that last.

"Well, that's very interesting, I'm sure," he said tolerantly. He caught
sight of the bird-cage. "Has the bird flown?"

"We think the cat got it," said Mrs. Hale in a voice curiously even.

He was walking up and down, as if thinking something out.

"Is there a cat?" he asked absently.

Mrs. Hale shot a look up at the sheriff's wife.

"Well, not _now_," said Mrs. Peters. "They're superstitious, you know;
they leave."

She sank into her