TRIFLES
MRS. PETERS: Not till they brought her yesterday.
MRS. HALE: She—come to think of it, she was kind of like a bird herself—real sweet and pretty, but kind of timid and—fluttery. How—she—did— change. (Silence; then as if struck by a happy thought and relieved to get back to every day things) Tell you what, Mrs. Peters, why don't you take the quilt in with you? It might take up her mind.
MRS. PETERS: Why, I think that's a real nice idea, Mrs. Hale. There couldn't possibly be any objection to it, could there? Now, just what would I take? I wonder if her patches are in here—and her things. (Both look in sewing basket)
MRS. HALE: Here's some red. I expect this has got sewing things it it. (Brings out a fancy box) What a pretty box. Looks like something somebody would give you. Maybe her scissors are in here. (Opens box. Suddenly puts her hand to her nose) Why (Mrs. Peters bends nearer, then turns her face away) There's something wrapped up in this piece of silk.
MRS. PETERS: Why, this isn't her scissors.
MRS. HALE: (Lifting the silk) Oh, Mrs. Peters—it's (Mrs. Peters bends closer)
MRS. PETERS: It's the bird.
MRS. HALE: (Jumping up) But, Mrs. Peters—look at it! It's neck! Look at its neck! It's all—other side to.
MRS. PETERS: Somebody-wrung-its-neck. (Their eyes
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