Ellen shook her head.

She was sitting at the table in the dining-room, and her father, mother, and aunt were all hovering about her, watching her.

Some of the neighbor women were also in the room, staring with a sort of deprecating tenderness of curiosity.
"Do you feel sick ?" Ellen's father inquired, anxiously.
"You don't feel sick, do you ?" repeated her mother.
Ellen shook her head.
Just then Mrs.Zelotes Brewster came in with her black-and-white-checked shawl pinned around her gaunt old face, which had in it a strange softness and sweetness, which made Fanny look at her again, after the first glance, and not know why.
"We've got our blessing back again, mother," said her son Andrew, in a broken voice.
"But she won't eat her breakfast, now mother has gone and cooked it for her, so nice, too," said Fanny, in a tone of confidence which she had never before used towards Mrs.Zelotes.
"You don't feel sick, do you, Ellen ?" asked her grandmother.
Ellen shook her head.

"No, ma'am," said she.
"She says she don't feel sick, and she ain't hungry," Andrew said, anxiously.
"I wonder if she would eat one of my new doughnuts.

I've got some real nice ones," said a neighbor--the stout woman from the next house, whose breadth of body seemed to symbolize a corresponding spiritual breadth of motherliness, as she stood there looking at the child who had been lost and was found.
"Don't you want one of Aunty Wetherhed's nice doughnuts ?" asked Fanny.
"No; I thank you," replied Ellen.