Gypsy sat down in her favorite place on the bed, just where she could see the cripple's great quiet eyes--she always liked to watch Peace Maythorne's eyes--and in doing so disturbed the bedclothes.

A piece of work fell out: plain, fine sewing, in which the needle lay with a stitch partially taken.
"Peace Maythorne!" said Gypsy, "you've been doing it again!" "A little, just to help aunt, you know.

A little doesn't hurt me, Gypsy." "Doesn't hurt you?
Peace, you know better.

You know you never sew a stitch but you lie awake half the night after it with the pain." Peace did not contradict her.

She could not.
"Help your aunt!" Gypsy went on vehemently; "she oughtn't to let you touch it.