rs.
Dorinda stepped in front of me.

"Roscoe," she said, sharply, "can he do it?"

"Do it?" I repeated. "What do you mean?"

"Can he give you your walkin' papers at that bank? Oh, I heard him! I
tried not to, but he hollered so I couldn't help it. That kitchen door
ain't much thicker'n a sheet of paper, anyhow. Can he do it?"

"I guess so. He seems to be boss of that institution."

"But can't 'Lisha Warren or some of the other directors help you? Jed
Dean don't boss 'Lisha Warren--not much."

"I shan't ask for help. Please don't trouble me, Dorinda."

I tried to pass her, but she would not permit it.

"I shan't trouble you, Ros," she said. "I guess you've got troubles
enough without me. But you let me ask you this: Are you goin' to let him
drive you out of town?"

I shrugged my shoulders. "It may not take much driving," I announced,
listlessly, "if it were not for Mother I should be only too glad to go."

Again I tried to pass, but this time she seized my arm.

"Roscoe Paine," she cried, "don't you talk like that. I don't want to
hear another word like that. Don't you let Jed Dean or nobody else drive
you out of Denboro. You ain't done nothin' to be ashamed of, have you?"

"I sold that land to Mr. Colton. I don't know how Captain Jed found it
out, but it is true enough; I did exactly what he said I did."

"Found out! He found out from somebody over to Ostable where the deed
was recorded, that is how he found out. He said so. But I don't care for
that. And I don't care if you sold the Lane ten times over. You didn't
do it for any mean or selfish reason, that I know. There ain't a selfish
bone in your body, Roscoe. I've lived along with you all these years and
I know. Nobody that was mean or selfish would give up their chances in
life and stay here in this one-hoss town because his ma was sick and had
took a notion that she couldn't bear to part with him. Don't you mind
Jed Dean--pig-headed old thing!--or anybody else in Denboro. Hold up
your head and show 'em you don't care for the whole caboodle of 'em. Let
'em talk and act like fools, if they want to. It comes natural to most
of 'em, I cal'late, and they'll be sorry some day. Don't you let 'em
drive you out. They won't come inside THIS house with their talk, not
while I'm here, I tell you that!"

Her eyes, behind the brass-rimmed spectacles, flashed fire. This was the
longest speech I had ever heard her make.

"There, Dorinda," I said, smiling, "don't