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Updated: June 21, 2025
There could be no rafting down the river until after the loggers had brought their rafts from up in the mountains, to be sawed into planks. Alfaretta's father, who stood contemplating the ruins, and moralizing when any one would stop to listen to him, had pointed this out. Mr.
"Sir sir" the elder cried, backing towards the door and raising his hands in front of him, "don't look so, don't look so, sir!" "Who?" demanded the other. "I spoke fer the sake of Alfaretta's soul, and fer the sake of them that's heard her say them things about Tom Davis, provin' there wasn't any punishment for sinners. Don't look so, preacher!" "Tell me her name!" "Her name her name?
Her mistress looked at her in astonishment, but her father put his big hand over the gate, and, wrenching the little latch open, strode up to the front door of the parsonage. Helen and her maid looked at each other; Alfaretta's face working convulsively to keep back the tears, and her mistress's eyes full of disapproval. "Why did you say that, Alfaretta?" she said. "It was not true; you knew Mr.
"I guess he's too busy to see you this morning, he's awful busy." "I guess he's not too busy to see me," said the elder. Alfaretta's face was white now, but she still stood barring the gateway. "Well, you can't see him, anyhow;" her voice had begun to tremble, and Mrs. Ward, who had joined them, said, with a surprised look, "Why, what do you mean, Alfaretta? Of course Mr.
In that house everybody, meaning Madam and herself, did what its young "master" desired. Of course on the lady's part there were some exceptions to this rule, but none whatever on Alfaretta's. The lad was at once her delight and her torment; in his wilder moods teasing her relentlessly, but in his more thoughtful ones pitying her for her hard lot in life.
Then she stopped abruptly, feeling her position as the preacher's wife in a way of which she had never thought. Alfaretta's father was an elder in John's church, which gave her a certain ease in speaking to her mistress that did not mean the slightest disrespect. "Is it the words of it you don't like?" said Alfaretta, rather relieved, since her singing had not been criticised.
But I can't!" Then she drew the covers about her shoulders, stared through the open window at the moonlit ground, felt the scene a trifle dazzling, and closed her lids just to rest her eyes a minute. When she opened them again Alfaretta's bed was empty and neatly spread.
Alfaretta's courage came back with a rush. "Listen to me," cried the young woman, stamping her foot with excitement, for she was as angry as the elder himself, "listen to me! How can you say such things about her? A saint and angel, if ever there was one. The Lord don't send no one to hell, let alone such as her.
Indeed, her first table-setting, copied, as near as she could remember, from the careful appointments of her own mother's board, was to be an object lesson to others besides herself. For presently there was the sound of voices in the kitchen; Alfaretta's, of course, with another equally gay and girlish. Mattie Roderick had slept lightly.
With the coming of the dusk Alfaretta's perplexities had returned and brought others with them. It was not only a question of the boy's going supperless nor her courage, nor of burned porridge and Madam's lifted eyebrows when it was tasted, which to the bond-girl was "Worse 'an a lickin';" it was that further one of the grandmother's inquiries. How should she answer them?
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