I've stood up to father!" she exclaimed triumphantly as she
entered the kitchen and set down her yellow bowl of eggs on the
table. "I stood up to him, and answered him back three times!"
Waitstill was busy with her Saturday morning cooking, but she
turned in alarm.
"Patty, what have you said and done? Tell me quickly!"
"I 'argyfied,' but it didn't do any good; he won't let me go to
Ellen's party."
Waitstill wiped her floury hands and put them on her sister's
shoulders.
"Hear what I say, Patty: you must not argue with father, whatever
he says. We don't love him and so there isn't the right respect
in our hearts, but at least there can be respect in our manners."
"I don't believe I can go on for years, holding in, Waitstill!"
Patty whimpered.
"Yes, you can. I have!"
"You're different, Waitstill."
"I wasn't so different at sixteen, but that's five years ago, and
I've got control of my tongue and my temper since then. Sometime,
perhaps, when I have a grievance too great to be rightly borne,
sometime when you are away from here in a home of your own, I
shall speak out to father; just empty my heart of all the
disappointment and bitterness and rebellion. Somebody ought to
tell him the truth, and perhaps it will be me!"
"I wish it could be me," exclaimed Patty vindictively, and with
an equal disregard of grammar.
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