Mrs. Sloane was following,
but Barney stood in her way. "I guess you'd better not come in," he
said, abruptly.
Mrs. Sloane's face flushed a burning red. "I guess," she began, in a
loud voice, but Barney shut the door in her face. She ran noisily,
stamping her feet like an angry child, to the fireplace, caught up a
heavy kettle, and threw it down on the hearth. The hens flew up with
a great clamor and whir of wings; Mrs. Sloane's shrill, mocking laugh
arose above it. She began talking in a high-pitched voice, flinging
out vituperations which would seem to patter against the closed door
like bullets. Suddenly she stopped, as if her ire had failed her, and
listened intently to a low murmur from the other room. She nodded her
head when it ceased.
The door opened soon, and all except Rebecca came out. They stood
consulting together in low voices, and Mrs. Sloane listened. They
were deciding where to take Rebecca.
All at once Mrs. Sloane spoke. Her voice was still high-pitched with
anger.
"If you want to know where to take her to, I can tell you," said she.
"I'd keep her here an' welcome, but I s'pose you think I ain't good
enough, you're all such mighty particular folks, an' ain't never had
no disgrace in your own families. William Berry can't take her to his
home to-night, for his mother wouldn't leave a whole skin on either
of 'em.
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