But Cicely grew worse fast, from that very day. She seemed to run right
down.




CHAPTER XII.


One day Cicely had been worryin' dretfully all the forenoon about the boy.
And I declare, it seemed so pitiful to hear her talk and forebode about
him, with her face lookin' so wan and white, and her big eyes so sorrowful
lookin', as if they was lookin' onto all the sadness and trouble of the
world, and couldn't help herself--such a sort of a hopeless look, and
lovin' and broken-hearted, that it was all I could do to stand it without
breakin' right down, and cry in' with her.

But I knew her state, and held firm. And she went over all the old grounds
agin to me, that she had foreboded on; and I went over all the old grounds
of soothing agin and agin.

Why, good land! I had had practice enough. For every day, and every night,
would she forebode and forebode, and I would soothe and soothe, till I
declare for't, I should have felt (to myself) a good deal like a bread-
and-milk poultice, or even lobelia or catnip, if my feelin's on the
subject hadn't been so dretful deep and solemn, deeper than any poultice
that was ever made--and solemner.

Why, Tirzah Ann says to me one day,--she had been settin' with Cicely for