"She's fell down." "Oh, Mis' Field! you don't s'pose so ?" "The Starr girl's gone to find out." Mrs.Field turned to go.
"Hadn't you better stay here till she comes ?" asked Amanda, anxiously.
"No; I must go home." Suddenly Mrs.Field looked fiercely around.
"I'll tell you what 'tis, Mandy Pratt, an' you mark my words! I ain't goin' to stan' this kind of work much longer! I ain't goin' to see all the child I've got in the world murdered; for that's what it is--it's murder!" Mrs.Field went through the sitting-room with a stiff rush, and Amanda followed her.
"Oh, Mis' Field, don't take on so--don't!" she kept saying.
Mrs.Field went through the house into her own kitchen.

The little white-laid table stood against the wall; the tea-kettle steamed and rocked on the stove; the room was full of savory odors.

Mrs.Field set the tea-kettle back where it would not boil so hard.

These little household duties had become to her almost as involuntary as the tick of her own pulses.

No matter what hours of agony they told off, the pulses ticked; and in every stress of life she would set the tea-kettle back if it were necessary.