"Well, you've got home," said she, and it sounded like a question.
"Yes," said Charlotte. She laid her parcels on the table. "I guess
I'll go to bed," she added.
"Why, it's dreadful early to go to bed, ain't it?"
"Well, I'm tired; I guess I'll go."
The candle-light was dim in the room, but Sarah eyed her daughter
sharply. She thought she looked pale.
"Did you meet anybody?" she asked.
"I don't know; there wasn't many folks out."
"You didn't see Barney, did you?"
"Yes, I met him."
Charlotte lighted another candle, and opened the door.
"Look here," said her mother.
"Well?" replied Charlotte, with a sort of despairing patience.
"What did he say to you? I want to know."
"He didn't say much of anything. He thanked me for what I did about
his mother."
"Didn't he say anything about anything else?"
"No, he didn't." Charlotte went out, shielding her candle.
"You don't mean that he didn't say anything, after the way he acted
that day his mother died?"
"I didn't expect him to say anything."
"He's treated you mean, Charlotte," her mother cried out, with a half
sob. "He'd ought to be strung up after he acted so, huggin' an'
kissin' you right before folk's face and eyes."
"It was more my fault than 'twas his," returned Charlotte; and she
shut the door.
"Then I should think you'd be ashamed of yourself," Sarah called
after her, but Charlotte did not seem to hear.
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