Amanda set the glass on the table.  “Don’t you think you’d ought to have a doctor, Mis’ Field?” said she.

It seemed impossible that Lois could have heard, but her voice came shrilly from the other room:  “No, I ain’t going to have a doctor; there’s no need of it.  I sha’n’t like it if you get one, mother.”

“No, you sha’n’t have one, dear child,” her mother called back.  “She was always jest so about havin’ a doctor,” she whispered to Amanda.

“I’ll take in the beer if she’s awake,” said Amanda.

Lois looked up when she entered.  “I don’t want a doctor,” said she, pitifully, rolling her blue eyes.

“Of course you sha’n’t have a doctor if you don’t want one,” returned Amanda, soothingly.  “I thought mebbe you’d like a glass of my beer.”

Lois drank the beer eagerly, then she sank back and closed her eyes.  “I’m going to get up in a minute, and sew on my dress,” she murmured.

But she did not stir until her mother helped her to bed early in the evening.

The next day she seemed a little better.  Luckily it was Saturday, so there was no worry about her school for her.  She would not lie down, but sat in the rocking-chair with her needle-work in her lap.  When any one came in, she took it up and sewed.  Several of the neighbors had heard she was ill, and came to inquire.  She told them, with a defiant air, that she was very well, and they looked shocked and nonplussed.  Some of them beckoned her mother out into the entry when they took leave, and Lois heard them whispering together.

The next day, Sunday, Lois seemed about the same.  She said once that she was going to church, but she did not speak of it again.  Mrs. Field went.  She suggested staying at home, but Lois was indignant.

“Stay at home with me, no sicker than I am!  I should think you were crazy, mother,” said she.

So Mrs. Field got out her Sunday clothes and went to meeting.  As soon as she had gone, Lois coughed; she had been choking the cough back.  She stood at the window, well back that people might not see her, and watched her mother pass down the street with her stiff glide.  Mrs. Field’s back and shoulders were rigidly steady when she walked; she might have carried a jar of water on her head without spilling it, like an Indian woman.  Lois, small and slight although she was, walked like her mother.  She held herself with the same resolute stateliness, when she could hold herself at all.  The two women might, as far as their carriage went, have marched in a battalion with propriety.

Lois felt a certain relief when her mother had gone.  Even when Mrs. Field made no expression of anxiety, there was a covert distress about her which seemed to enervate the atmosphere, and hinder the girl in the fight she was making against her own weakness.  Lois had a feeling that if nobody would look at her nor speak about her illness, she could get well quickly of herself.