in my stummick this very minute

  "Sold it!" echoed Rachel, dolefully.   "Yes; we felt that we didn't need it, and we did need money. She offered me fifteen dollars for it, and I accepted."   Rachel sat down in a rocking-chair, and began straightway to show signs of great depression of spirits.   "Life's full of disappointments!" she groaned. "Our paths is continually beset by 'em. There's that sofa. It's so pleasant to have one in the house when a body's sick. But, there, it's gone, and if I happen to get down, as most likely I shall, for I've got a bad feeling in my stummick this very minute, I shall have to go upstairs, and most likely catch my death of cold, and that will be the end of me."   "Not so bad as that, I hope," said Mrs. Harding, cheerfully. "You know when you was sick last, you didn't want to use the sofa; you said it didn't lay comfortable. Besides, I hope before you are sick we may be able to buy it back again."   Aunt Rachel shook her head despondingly.   "There ain't any use in hoping that," she said. "Timothy's got so much behindhand that he won't be able to get up again; I know he won't!"   "But, if he only manages to find steady work soon, he will."   "No, he won't," said Rachel, positively. "I'm sure he won't. There won't be any work before spring, and most likely not then."   "You are too desponding, Aunt Rachel."   "Enough to make me so. If you had only taken my advice, we shouldn't have come to this."