You know I mean exactly what I say,
mother. She goes or I do. Take your choice!"
"Mr. Westerfelt has had a lot of trouble," began Mrs. Floyd, wondering
what it could all be about; "everybody here is in sympathy with him.
We are all liable to mistakes; surely you can pardon him if--"
"Not while I'm above ground," shrieked the old woman. She dropped her
bag, then picked it up awkwardly, and started to leave by a door which
opened into another room. She burst into hysterical weeping when Mrs.
Floyd caught her arm to detain her. "Not while I'm alive an' have my
senses," she went on, in sobs and piping tones. "I'll hound him to his
grave. I wouldn't stay heer over night to save my life. I'd ruther
sleep in a hay-stack ur in a barn-loft."
Harriet turned her white, rigid face to the window, and stood between
the parted curtains as still as a statue. Mrs. Floyd tried again to
detain the old woman, but she flounced out of the room and thumped
down-stairs.
The next morning a young girl came into the village by one of the
mountain roads. Her face was sad and troubled, and she looked as if
she had walked a long distance.
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