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She never gave one any chance for an illusion about her, for there was handsome Johnny Deutra still hanging round the gate watching Deolda, and she already held my aunt's heart in her slender hand. My aunt went around muttering, "One-armed Manel's girl!" She appealed to me: "She's got to live somewhere, hasn't she?"
That night I was tired out and went to bed. But I couldn't sleep; Deolda sat staring out into the dark as she had the night before. Next morning I was standing outside the house when one of Deolda's brothers came tearing along. It was Joe, the youngest of one-armed Manel's brood, a boy of sixteen who worked in the fish factory. "Deolda!" he yelled. "Deolda, Johnny's all right!"
And so was Johnny Deutra, for from that first glance of Deolda's that dared him, love laid its heavy hand on his young shoulders. "What's your name, dear?" my aunt asked. "Deolda Costa," said she. "Oh, you're one-armed Manel's girl. I don't remember seeing you about lately." "I been working to New Bedford. My father an' mother both died. I came up for the funeral.
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