Lucy passed into the wash-house with her pails, and Miss Goldthwaite
went into the house without knocking. Miss Hepsy was making
buckwheats, and greeted her visitor pleasantly enough. She sat down
in the window, turned her eyes on Miss Hepsy's face, and said
bluntly,--

"I'm going to say something which will likely vex you, Miss Hepsy,
but I can't help it. I've been wanting to say it this long time."

Miss Hepsy did not look surprised, or even curious, she only said
calmly,--

"It wouldn't be the first time you've vexed me, Miss Goldthwaite, by
a long chalk."

"It's about Lucy, Miss Hepsy," continued Miss Goldthwaite. "Can't you
see she's hardly fit to do a hand's turn at work? I met her out there
carrying a load she was no more fit to carry than that kitten."

"Ain't she?" inquired Miss Hepsy quite unmoved. "What else?"

"There she is; I see her through the door. Look at her, and _see_ if
she is well. If she doesn't get rest and that speedily, she'll go
into a decline, as sure as I sit here. I had a sister," said Carrie
with a half sob, "who died of decline, and she looked exactly as Lucy
does."

Miss Hepsy walked from the dresser to the stove and back again before
she spoke. "When did you find out, Miss Goldthwaite, that Hepsy
Strong could not mind her own affairs and her own folks?"