CHAPTER XIII.

The next day I took a "turn" of corn to the water-mill, far down the
stream. The old man had not been off the place since Alf went to jail,
and the office of attending to all outside affairs was conferred upon
me. Guinea came out to the corn-crib and stood at the door, looking in
upon me as I tied the mouth of the bag. The old man was not far off,
calling his hogs; a sad cry at any time, but growing sadder, it seemed
to me, as the days wore along.

"Old Moll will have a load," the girl said; "you and that bag."

"Yes, if I were to ride on the bag like a boy, but I'm going to walk and
lead her."

"Oh, that will be nice," she cried. "Nice for Moll. I wish I could go
with you. It's beautiful all down that way; high rocks and pools with
fish in them. It isn't so awfully far, either. I have walked it many a
time."

"Alone?" I asked, tugging at the string.

"That doesn't matter. It's the distance I'm talking about. Why, you
haven't asked me to go."

"But I ask you now," I said, dragging the bag toward the door.

"No, I won't go now," she replied, making way for me to come out.

"Won't you, please?"

"No, not since I have come to think about it. I'd have to walk along all
the time with my hands to my ears, for I just know you'd say something I
don't want to hear. You are as cruel as you can be, lately."

I had taken up the bag to throw it across the mare, but I dropped it
upon the log step.

"You'll burst it if you don't mind, Mr. Hawes."

"But I handle it more tenderly than you do my heart!" I cried. "You have
thrown my heart down in the dust and are trying to burst it."

Her hands flew to her ears. "Oh, I knew you were going to say something
mean. But I can't hear you now. Isn't it an advantage to say what you
please and not hear a word? You can do this way if you want to. No, I
won't go--really, I can't. I mustn't leave mother."

She ran away toward the house, and I stood watching her until she was
hidden behind the old man's "stockade." Torturer she was, sometimes with
her dignity, but worse with her whimsical, childish ways, when she
seemed to dance on the outer edge of my life, daring me to catch her in
my arms. But was it not my size that made her feel like a child? It must
have been, for whenever she spoke of Chyd she was deeply serious. I was
resentful as I led the old mare toward the mill. Oh, I understood it
all. She had seen that I sought to punish her, had read me as we sat