Maybe Aunt Clarissa is right about Lizzie an' him, but I've got to get
it straight from him. He went to town to-day, and always drives along
the road about this time."
"Then I'll go out thar with you, Sally, if you will do sech a thing."
"No, you won't, mother. Nobody has any right to hear what I've got to
say to him."
The old woman raised the corner of her gingham apron to her eyes as if
some inward emotion had prompted tears, but the fountains of grief were
dry.
"Oh, Sally," she whimpered, "I'm so miserable! I'll never forgive yore
aunt fer devilin' you so much, right now when you are troubled. I'll
tell you what me 'n' you'll do; we'll git us a house an' move away from
'er."
"I don't care what she says--if it's true," replied Sally. "If--if
John Westerfelt has fooled me, I wouldn't care if it was printed in
every paper in the State. If he don't love me, I won't care for
nothin'. Mother, you know he made me think he loved--wanted me, at
least--that was all I could make out of it."
"I was a leetle afeerd all along," admitted Mrs. Dawson. "I was
afeerd, though I couldn't let on at the time.
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