They returned to an inspection of the block for the quilt. Mrs. Hale was looking at the fine, even sewing, and preoccupied with thoughts of the woman who had done that sewing, when she heard the sheriff's wife say, in a queer tone: "Why, look at this one." She turned to take the block held out to her. "The sewing," said Mrs. Peters, in a troubled way. "All the rest of them have been so nice and even--but--this one. Why, it looks as if she didn't know what she was about!" Their eyes met--something flashed to life, passed between them; then, as if with an effort, they seemed to pull away from each other. A moment Mrs. Hale sat her hands folded over that sewing which was so unlike all the rest of the sewing. Then she had pulled a knot and drawn the threads. "Oh, what are you doing, Mrs. Hale?" asked the sheriff's wife, startled. "Just pulling out a stitch or two that's not sewed very good," said Mrs. Hale mildly. "I don't think we ought to touch things," Mrs. Peters said, a little helplessly. "I'll just finish up this end," answered Mrs. Hale, still in that mild, matter-of-fact fashion. She threaded a needle and started to replace bad sewing with good. For a little while she sewed in silence. Then, in that thin, timid voice, she heard: "Mrs. Hale!" "Yes, Mrs. Peters?" "What do you suppose she was so--nervous about?" "Oh, _I_ don't know," said Mrs. Hale, as if dismissing a thing not important enough to spend much time on. "I don't know as she was--nervous. I sew awful queer sometimes when I'm just tired." She cut a thread, and out of the corner of her eye looked up at Mrs. Peters. The small, lean face of the sheriff's wife seemed to have tightened up. Her eyes had that look of peering into something. But next moment she moved, and said in her thin, indecisive way: "Well, I must get those clothes wrapped. They may be through sooner than we think. I wonder where I could find a piece of paper--and string." "In that cupboard, maybe," suggested Mrs. Hale, after a glance around. * * * One piece of the crazy sewing remained unripped. Mrs. Peters' back turned, Martha Hale now scrutinized that piece, compared it with the dainty, accurate sewing of the other blocks. The difference was startling. Holding this block made her feel queer, as if the distracted thoughts of the woman who had perhaps turned to it to try and quiet herself were communicating themselves to her. Mrs. Peters' voice roused her. "Here's a bird-cage," she said. "Did she have a bird, Mrs. Hale?" "Why, I don't know whether she did or not." She turned to look at the cage Mrs. Peter was holding up. "I've not been here in so long." She sighed. "There was a man round last year selling canaries cheap--but I don't know as she took one. Maybe she did. She used to sing real pretty herself." Mrs. Peters looked around the kitchen.