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Updated: May 10, 2025
Morgan had not been a paying guest in that house two days before the somber domestic tragedy that it roofed was as plain to him as if he had it printed and bound, and in his valise along with the compendiums of his valuable assortment. He found it pleasant to return to the farm early of an afternoon and sit in the kitchen door with his pipe, and watch Ollie's face clear of clouds as he talked.
Ollie's poor attempt only showed more clearly that he had purposely refrained from telling Sammy of the might when Young Matt had interfered to save his life. To the simple straight-forward lad of the woods, such a course revealed a spirit most contemptible.
It did not take her long to dress, and in a few minutes they went softly down-stairs. Mrs. Rogers' bed-room door was open, and upon looking in the children saw that Ollie's papa and mamma had gone to the beach. As there was no one of whom they could ask permission, each little girl wrapped herself warmly in a woollen shawl, and drawing the bolt of the kitchen door they stepped out into the night.
His mother had taken his hand between her rough palms, and was chafing it, as if to call back its warmth and life. She was not looking at her son, for her faith had not departed from him for one moment, and would not have diminished if they had condemned him under the accusation. Her eyes were on Ollie's face, her lips were murmuring beneath her breath: "Thank the Lord for His justice and mercy!
Ollie's voice, low and steady in earnest determination, broke the current of his denunciation as a knife severs a straining cord. The suddenness of her declaration almost made the prosecutor reel. She was sitting up, straight and outwardly calm, pushing her cloak and other detached belongings away from her with an unconscious movement of disencumbering herself for some desperate leap.
Ollie weighed against his mother; Ollie, the tainted, the unclean. His eyes found Ollie's as he coupled her name with his mother's in his mind. She was shrinking against her mother's shoulder she had a mother, too pale and afraid. Mrs. Newbolt stretched out her hands.
Wash answered with a scowl; "Sammy's gettin' too dad burned good fer me since Ollie's uncle took him in. An' now, this here old man from nowhere has come, it's worse than ever. She'll put a rope 'round our necks th' first thing you know." Jim's right hand slipped quietly inside his hickory shirt, where the button was missing, as he drawled, "My girl always was too good for some folks.
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