I am my father's daughter and must
suffer for his sins, if he has them. If he has done this dreadful
thing, which I don't believe, then I don't deserve your friendliness,
and I can't take what it is not right for me to have. I'm going home
and stay there until he comes, and then if he can't explain and has to
pay any penalty I'm going to do it with him."

"Oh, Phyllis, and what will Lovey do without you?" Roxanne begged,
using the strongest thing she could have said to me when I thought of
the little blind boy that wanted and needed me so badly.

"You will punish him and us for something we can't help," the Idol
said to me with reproach in his eyes and voice that nearly killed me.

"You both have had your kind of pride about taking gifts from me ever
since I have known you," I answered, looking them full in the eyes,
"and you have taught me what the word means. I could take things to
eat and wear from you, but my kind of pride won't let me take your
friendship when you think my father has treated you like this.
Good-by! I can't stay any longer to be tortured." And with that I
turned and walked away from them both, forever, I am afraid.

It isn't true, it can't be! But if it is? One thing I have made up my
mind to do: I am going to ask Father, if it is all true, to let me go
away from Byrdsville. I can't stay here; it will be too empty a life
for me to watch them living with me out of it. I hope he will go and
take Mother too. Judge Luttrell may prosecute him so he will have to.

Is this the end of the life that bloomed out in me like the apple
blossoms do on the bare trees, only to be shattered? No! I hope I will
bear fruit from having had so much happiness, like the apple-trees do
from their blooms, and I'm going to try.

* * * * *

Just here I laid down Louise and went to see what I could see going on
down at the cottage before dark. And there was old Uncle Pompey
hanging over our garden wall smoking his pipe and just crying into his
funny red bandanna handkerchief. Something tells me that he is going
to miss me very much also. I am thankful for the love of this old
negro, which I am sure is just the same quality as if he were white.

I think if I could just steal in for one minute and look at Lovelace
Peyton's little bandaged head it would make the pain in my heart
easier for having to give him up, but even that I can't do. I've found
how strong pride is as well as bitter.

CH