"She'11 not take anything from my house. It's her husband's
business to find her in clothes."
"They'll be better ones than ever you found me," was Patty's
response.
No heroics for her; no fainting fits at being disowned; no
hysterics at being turned out of house and home; no prayers for
mercy, but a quick retort for every gibe from her father; and her
defiant attitude enraged the Deacon the more.
"I won't speak again," he said, in a tone that could not be
mistaken. "Into the street you go, with the clothes you stand up
in, or I'11 do what I said I'd do."
"Go, Patty, it's the only thing to be done. Don't tremble, for
nobody shall touch a hair of your head. I can trust you to find
shelter to-night, and Mark will take care of you to-morrow."
Patty buttoned her shabby coat and tied on her hood as she walked
from the kitchen through the sitting-room towards the side door,
her heart heaving with shame and anger, and above all with a
child's sense of helplessness at being parted from her sister.
"Don't tell the neighbors any more lies than you can help,"
called her father after her retreating form; "an' if any of 'em
dare to come up here an' give me any of their imperdence, they'll
be treated same as you.
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