She never thought much about her own appearance; this morning she had as little vanity as though she were dead.
When the whistle of the train sounded, the women all pushed anxiously out on the platform.
"Is this the train that goes to Boston ?" Mrs.Field asked one of the other two.
"I s'pose so," she replied, with a reciprocative flutter.

"I'm goin' to ask so's to be sure.

I'm goin' to Dale." "I always ask," her friend remarked, with decision.
When the train stopped, Mrs.Field inquired of a brakeman.

She was hardly satisfied with his affirmative answer.

"Are you the conductor ?" said she, sternly peering.
The young fellow gave a hurried wave of his hand toward the conductor, "There he is, ma'am." Mrs.Field asked him also, then she hoisted herself into the car.
When she had taken her seat, she put the same question to a woman in front of her.
It was a five-hours' ride to Boston.