"I don't know. I guess it's pretty good, ain't it?" stammered Mrs. Field. "Well, some think it is, and some don't. I ain't never liked it very well myself, but it was all I had. It was taken some years before he died. I guess jest about the time you was down here. There! I s'pose you know whose this is?" It was her own photograph that Mrs. Field leant over and saw, and Lois on the other side saw it also. "Yes, I guess I do," she said. "Was it a pretty good one of your sister?" There was a strange gulping sound in Mrs. Field's throat. She did not answer. Mrs. Maxwell thought she did not hear, and repeated her question. "No, I don't think 'twas, very," said Mrs. Field hoarsely. "Well, of course I don't know. I never see her. You remember you gave this to me when you was here. I always thought you must look alike, judging from your pictures. I never see pictures so much alike in my life. I don't know how many folks have thought they were taken for the same person, an' I've always thought so too. If anything your sister's picture looks more like you than your own does; but I've always told which was which by that breast-pin in your sister's. Why, you've got on that breast-pin now, ain't you, Esther?" "Yes, I have," said Mrs. Field. "I s'pose your sister left it to you. Well, Lois wouldn't want to wear it as I know of. It's rather old for her. Why, Lois, what's the matter?" Lois had gotten up abruptly. "I guess I'll go over to the window," said she, in a quick trembling voice. Mrs. Maxwell looked at her sharply. "Why, you're dreadful pale. You ain't faint, are you?" "No, ma'am." Mrs. Field turned over another page of the album. Her pale face had a hard, indifferent look. Mrs. Maxwell nudged her, and nodded toward Lois in the window. "She looks dreadful," she whispered. "I don't see as she looks any worse than she's been doin' right along," said Mrs. Field, without lowering her voice. "What baby is this?" "It's Mis' Robinson's; it's dead. Hadn't I better get her something to take? I've got some currant wine. Maybe a little of that would do her good." "No, thank you; I don't care for any," Lois interposed quickly. "Hadn't you better have a little? You look real pale." "No, thank you." "Now you needn't mind takin' it, Lois, if you do belong to any temperance society. It wouldn't go to the head of a baby kitten." "I'm just as much obliged, but I don't care for any," said Lois. Mrs. Maxwell turned over a page of the album. "That's Mis' Robinson's sister. She's dead too. She married a man over at Milton, an' didn't live a year," she said ostentatiously. "Hadn't I better get her a little?" she whispered. "Mebbe it would do her good, if you've got it to spare," Mrs. Field whispered back. "Here's the minister's little boy that died," said Mrs. Maxwell. "He wasn't sick but a day. He ate milk an' cherries. I wonder where Flora is? She didn't have a thing to do but comb her hair and change her dress. I guess I'll go call her."