You told father that you didn't regret what you
had done, and that when he ordered you to do unreasonable things,
you should disobey him. After all, you are not a black slave.
Father will never think of that particular thing again, perhaps,
any more than he ever alluded to my driving to Saco with Mrs. Day
after you had told him it was necessary for one of us to go there
occasionally. He knows that if he is too hard on us, Dr. Perry or
Uncle Bart would take him in hand. They would have done it long
ago if we had ever given any one even a hint of what we have to
endure. You will be all right, because you only want to do kind,
neighborly things. I am the one that will always have to suffer,
because I can't prove that it's a Christian duty to deceive
father and steal off to a dance or a frolic. Yet I might as well
be a nun in a convent for all the fun I get! I want a white
book-muslin dress; I want a pair of thin shoes with buckles; I
want a white hat with a wreath of yellow roses; I want a volume
of Byron's poems; and oh! nobody knows--nobody but the Lord could
understand--how I want a string of gold beads."
"Patty, Patty! To hear you chatter anybody would imagine you
thought of nothing but frivolities.
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