. . . Ain't tomorrow bakin'-day?" he added.
"Yes, dad," she said, smoothing his hands.
"What damned--liars--they be--Liddy! You're my gel, ain't ye?"
"Yes, dad. I'll make some boneset liquor now."
"Yes, yes," he said, with childish eagerness and a weak, wild smile.
"That's it--that's it."
She was about to rise, but he caught her shoulder. "I bin a good dad to
ye, hain't I, Liddy?" he whispered.
"Always."
"Never had no ma but Manette, did ye?"
"Never, dad."
"What danged liars they be!" he said, chuckling. She kissed him, and
moved away to the fire to pour hot water and whisky on the herbs.
His eyes followed her proudly, shining like wet glass in the sun. He
laughed--such a wheezing, soundless laugh!
"He! he! he! I ain't no--durn--fool--bless--the Lord!" he said.
Then the shining look in his eyes became a grey film, and the girl turned
round suddenly, for the long, wheezy breathing had stopped. She ran to
him, and, lifting up his head, saw the look that makes even the fool seem
wise in his cold stillness. Then she sat down on the floor, laid her
head against the arm of his chair, and wept.
It was very quiet inside. From without there came the twang of an axe,
and a man's voice talking to his horse. When the man came in, he lifted
the girl up, and, to comfort her, bade her go look at a picture hanging
in her little room.
Pages:
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64