"Yes, I did," returned Charlotte, unflinchingly. "And I don't blame
him for not coming back and not turning his head. I wouldn't if I'd
been in his place."
"You'll have to uphold him a long time, then; I can tell you that,"
said Deborah. "He won't never come back if he's said he won't. I know
him; he's got some of me in him."
"I'll uphold him as long as I live," said Charlotte.
"I wonder you ain't ashamed to talk so."
"I am not."
Deborah looked at Charlotte as if she would crush her; then she
turned away.
"You're a hard woman, Mrs. Thayer, and I pity Barney because he's got
you for a mother," Charlotte said, in undaunted response to Deborah's
look.
"Well, you'll never have to pity yourself on that account," retorted
Deborah, without turning her head.
The door opened softly, and a girl of about Charlotte's age slipped
in. Nobody except Mrs. Barnard, who said, absently, "How do you do,
Rose?" seemed to notice her. She sat down unobtrusively in a chair
near the door and waited. Her blue eyes upon the others were so
intense with excitement that they seemed to blot out the rest of her
face. She had her blue apron tightly rolled about both hands.
Deborah Thayer, on her way to the door, looked at her as if she had
been a part of the wall, but suddenly she stopped and cast a glance
at Cephas. "What be you makin'?" she asked, with a kind of scorn at
him, and scorn at her own curiosity.
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