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Bower, B. M., 1871-1940

"Good Indian"


"No need to lecture, Mother Hart. I know it was a fool thing to
do; but when Donny told me what the old devil said, I was so mad
for a minute--"
Phoebe caught him again by the arm and pulled him forward.
"Grant! You're squeezing Vadnie to death, just about! Great
grief, I forgot all about the poor child being here! You poor
little--"
"Squeezing who?" Grant whirled, and caught a brief glimpse of a
crumpled little figure behind him, evidently too scared to cry,
and yet not quite at the fainting point of terror. He backed,
and began to stammer an apology; but she did not wait to hear a
word of it. For an instant she stared into his face, and then,
like a rabbit released from its paralysis of dread, she darted
past him and deaf up the stone steps into the house. He heard
the kitchen-door shut, and the click of the lock. He heard other
doors slam suggestively; and he laughed in spite of his
astonishment.
"And who the deuce might that be?" he asked, feeling in his
pocket for smoking material.


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