art ached for the girl, but her simple mind was not equal to the
task of consolation in a case like this. She could not cope with its
difficulties. She knew Nan was to blame for much, but she thought in
her heart that Mrs. Newton had no right to vent her wrath upon the girl
without first having heard her side of the story. She could not
console Nan, she thought, without seeming to convict Mrs. Newton, and
if she "stood up for" Mrs. Newton, Nan would think her lacking in
sympathy for herself. But in the midst of her wondering, up bobbed the
head from under her hand.
"Mrs. Newton says I teach the children to do wrong. She says I'm a
hoyden. She says I left Ruth in the cold and that I was a coward. She
didn't give me time to tell her about how I tried to get Ruth home
myself, and that when I couldn't, how I just howled for help. At least
she didn't want to listen when I got so I could speak. She says
everybody thinks I'm bad, and they want to have me attended to. She
thinks I taught Ruth to tell lies. Think, Delia, lies! When she said
that it was like knives! O Delia? I know you've been awfully good to
me always, and taken care of me since mamma died and all, but if it is
so dreadful to play ball and skate and do things like that, why did you
let me in the first place? I hate to sew and do worsted work and be
prim, but perhaps, if you had brought me up that way I might have got
so I could stand it. Don't you think if you had begun when I was a
baby I might have? I don't want to have people hate me--honestly, I
don't. When they talk to me, and say I'm rowdyish because I walk
fences and play ball with the boys and climb trees, I try not to show
it, but it hurts me way deep down. I try to say something back so
they'll think I don't care, and sometimes, if it hurts too much, I
pretend not to hear, and that makes them madder than ever. They don't
know how, when it's like that, I can't speak. Perhaps if you'd brought
me up so, I might have liked dolls and thought it was fun to sit still
and sew on baby clothes. But I don't like to, and I can't help it.
Mrs. Newton thinks because I whistle and make a noise that I'm just
mean and hateful and everything else. She thinks I don't care. Why,
Delia! if anything happened to Ruth I'd feel exactly as if I didn't
want to live another day. I--I--O Delia!"
For the first time she gave way, and, hiding her head in her arms,
sobbed heavily.
By this time Delia had
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