Didn't me daughter ever get it? I wrote it to her meself. How come you by
it?"
"Mother read it to me long ago when I was little," answered the girl, the
slow hope fading from her lips as she spoke. Was every one, was even her
grandmother, going to be cold and harsh with her? "Our Father, hide me!"
her heart murmured, because it had become a habit; and her listening
thought caught the answer, "Let not your heart be troubled."
"Well, who are you?" said the uncordial grandmother, still puzzled. "You
ain't Bessie, me Bessie. Fer one thing, you're 'bout as young as she was
when she went off 'n' got married, against me 'dvice, to that drunken,
lazy dude." Her brow was lowering, and she proceeded to finish her letter.
"I am Elizabeth," said the girl with a trembling voice, "the baby you
talked about in that letter. But please don't call father that. He wasn't
ever bad to us. He was always good to mother, even when he was drunk. If
you talk like that about him, I shall have to go away."
"Fer the land sakes! You don't say," said Mrs. Brady, sitting down hard in
astonishment on the biscuit upholstery of her best parlor chair. "Now you
ain't Bessie's child! Well, I _am clear_ beat. And growed up so big! You
look strong, but you're kind of thin. What makes your skin so black? Your
ma never was dark, ner your pa, neither."
"I've been riding a long way in the wind and sun and rain."
"Fer the land sakes!" as she looked through the window to the street.
Pages:
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137