She was a frequent visitor, generally coming in the evening, and going home laden with spoil, creeping from cover to cover like a cat.

She was afraid to have her daughter and nephew know of all the booty she obtained.

She had many things snugly tucked away in bureau drawers and the depths of closets which she had carried home under her shawl by night.

Jane Field was only too glad to give her all for which she asked or hinted.
To-night, as Mrs.Maxwell took leave of the three strange women standing in a prim row, she gave a meaning nod to Mrs.Field, who followed her to the door.
"I was thinkin' about that old glass preserve-dish," she whispered.
"I don't s'pose it's worth much, but if you don't use it ever, I s'pose I might as well have it.

Flora has considerable company now, an' ours ain't a very good size." When Mrs.Maxwell had gone out of the yard with the heavy cut-glass dish pressed firmly against her side under her black silk shawl, Jane Field felt like one who had had a reprieve from instant execution, although she had already suffered the slow torture.