Westerfelt | Page 3

with water,
and into it she tried to place the stems, but they seemed hard to manage
in her quivering fingers, and she finally took the flowers to her own
room across the passage. They heard the sagging door scrape the floor
as she closed it after her.
"Now, I reckon you two are satisfied," said Mrs. Dawson, bitterly.
"Narry one of you hain't one bit o' feelin' ur pity."
Mrs. Slogan shrugged her shoulders, and Peter looked up regretfully,
and then with downcast eyes continued to pull silently at his pipe.
"I jest did what I ort to 'a' done," said Mrs. Slogan. "She ort to know the
truth, an' I tol' 'er."
"You could 'a' gone about it in a more human way," sighed Mrs.
Dawson. "The Lord knows the child's had enough to worry 'er, anyway.
She's been troubled fer the last week about him not comin' like he used
to, an' she'd a-knowed the truth soon enough."
An hour later supper was served, and though her aunt called to her that

it was on the table, Sally Dawson did not appear, so the meal passed in
unusual silence. The Slogans ate with their habitual zest, but the little
bent widow only munched a piece of bread and daintily sipped her cup
of buttermilk.
Presently they heard the rasping sound of Sally's door as it was drawn
open, and then they saw her go through the passage and step down into
the yard. Rising quickly, Mrs. Dawson went to the door and looked out.
She descried her daughter making her way hastily towards the gate.
"Sally!" cried out the old woman, her thin voice cracking on its too
high key, "Sally, wait thar fer me! Stop, I say!"
The girl turned and waited for her mother to approach through the
half-darkness, her face averted towards the road.
"Sally, whar have you started?"
The girl did not move as she answered:
"Nowhere, mother; I--"
The old woman put out her bony hand and laid it on the girl's arm.
"Sally, you are not a-tellin' me the truth. You are a-goin' to try to see
John Westerfelt."
"Well, what if I am, mother?"
"I don't believe I'd go, darlin'. I'd be above lettin' any triflin' man know
I was that bad off--I railly would try to have a little more pride."
Sally Dawson turned her head, and her eyes bore down desperately on
the small face before her.
"Mother," she said, "you don't know what you'd do if you was in my
place."
"I reckon not, darlin', but--"

"Mother, I'll die if I don't know the truth. Once he told me if I ever
heard one word against him to come to him with it, and I said I would.
Maybe Aunt Clarissa is right about Lizzie an' him, but I've got to get it
straight from him. He went to town to-day, and always drives along the
road about this time."
"Then I'll go out thar with you, Sally, if you will do sech a thing."
"No, you won't, mother. Nobody has any right to hear what I've got to
say to him."
The old woman raised the corner of her gingham apron to her eyes as if
some inward emotion had prompted tears, but the fountains of grief
were dry.
"Oh, Sally," she whimpered, "I'm so miserable! I'll never forgive yore
aunt fer devilin' you so much, right now when you are troubled. I'll tell
you what me 'n' you'll do; we'll git us a house an' move away from 'er."
"I don't care what she says--if it's true," replied Sally. "If--if John
Westerfelt has fooled me, I wouldn't care if it was printed in every
paper in the State. If he don't love me, I won't care for nothin'. Mother,
you know he made me think he loved--wanted me, at least--that was all
I could make out of it."
"I was a leetle afeerd all along," admitted Mrs. Dawson. "I was afeerd,
though I couldn't let on at the time. Folks said he was powerful
changeable. You see, he has treated other gals the same way. Sally, you
must be brave, an' not let on. Why, thar was Mattie Logan--jest look at
her. Folks said she was a rantin' fool about 'im, but when he quit goin'
thar she tuck up with Clem Dill, an' now she's a happy wife an'
mother."
Sally turned towards the gate. "What's that to me?" she said, fiercely.
"I'm not her, and she's not me. Stay here, mother. I'll be back soon."
"Well, I'm goin' to set right thar on that log outside the gate, an' not
budge one inch till you come back, Sally. If you wait too long, though,

I'll come after you. Oh, Sally, I'm awful afeerd--I don't know what