On the seat of the buggy were two women, one plump and round-faced, the other thin and gaunt.
Mr.Stover panted behind him.
"Say, Mr.Brown," he whispered, as they entered the kitchen; "don't tell my wife nor Sophi about Seth's bein' sick.

Better not say a word to them about it." The tone in which this was spoken made the substitute assistant curious.
"Why not ?" he asked.
"'Cause--well, 'cause Hannah's hobby is sick folks, as you might say.

If there's a cat in the neighborhood that's ailin' she's always dosin' of it up and fixin' medicine for it, and the like of that.

And Sophi's one of them 'New Thoughters' and don't believe anybody's got any right to be sick.

The two of 'em ain't done nothin' but argue and row over diseases and imagination and medicines ever since Sophi got here.