You know
it, and you know that I knew it. I went to see a sick, unhappy
woman who has no neighbors. I ought to have gone long before. I
am not ashamed of it, and I don't regret it. If you ask
unreasonable things of me, you must expect to be disobeyed once
in a while.
"Must expect to be disobeyed, must I?" the old man cried, his
face positively terrifying in its ugliness. "We'll see about
that! If you wa'n't callin' on a young man, you were callin' on a
crazy woman, and I won't have it, I tell you, do you hear? I
won't have a daughter o' mine consortin' with any o' that Boynton
crew. Perhaps a night outdoors will teach you who's master in
this house, you imperdent, shameless girl! We'11 try it, anyway!"
And with that he banged down the window and disappeared,
gibbering and jabbering impotent words that she could hear but
not understand.
Waitstill was almost stunned by the suddenness of this
catastrophe. She stood with her feet rooted to the earth for
several minutes and then walked slowly away out of sight of the
house. There was a chair beside the grindstone under the Porter
apple tree and she sank into it, crossed her arms on the back,
and bowing her head on them, burst into a fit of weeping as
tempestuous and passionate as it was silent, for although her
body fairly shook with sobs no sound escaped.
Pages:
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157