This was a most astoundingly generous proposition on the Deacon's part, and to tell the truth he did not himself fully understand his mental processes when he made it; but it seemed to be drawn from him by a kind of instinct that he was not standing well in his elder daughter's books. Though the two girls had never made any demonstration of their affection in his presence, he had a fair idea of their mutual dependence upon each other. Not that he placed the slightest value on Waitstill's opinion of him, or cared in the smallest degree what she, or any one else in the universe, thought of his conduct; but she certainly did appear to advantage when contrasted with the pert little hussy who had just left the premises. Also, Waitstill loomed large in his household comforts and economies, having a clear head, a sure hand, and being one of the steady-going, reliable sort that can be counted on in emergencies, not, like Patty, going off at half-cock at the smallest provocation. Yes, Waitstill, as a product of his masterly training for the last seven years, had settled down, not without some trouble and friction, into a tolerably dependable pack-horse, and he intended in the future to use some care in making permanent so valuable an aid and ally. She did not pursue nor attract the opposite sex, as his younger daughter apparently did; so by continuing his policy of keeping all young men rigidly at a distance he could count confidently on having', Waitstill serve his purposes for the next fifteen or twenty years, or as long as he, himself, should continue to ornament and enrich the earth. He would go to Saco the very next day, and cut Patty out of his will, arranging his property so that Waitstill should be the chief legatee as long as she continued to live obediently under his roof. He intended to make the last point clear if he had to consult every lawyer in York County; for he wouldn't take risks on any woman alive.
If he must leave his money anywhere--and it was with a bitter pang that he faced the inexorable conviction that he could neither live forever, nor take his savings with him to the realms of bliss prepared for members of the Orthodox Church in good and regular standing--if he must leave his money behind him, he would dig a hole in the ground and bury it, rather than let it go to any one who had angered him in his lifetime.
These were the thoughts that caused him to relax his iron grip and smile as he sat by the window, smoking his corn-cob pipe and taking one of his very rare periods of rest.
Presently he glanced at the clock. "It's only quarter-past four," h e said. "I thought 't was later, but the snow makes it so light you can't jedge the time. The moon fulls to-night, don't it? Yes; c ome to think of it, I know it does. Ain't you settin' out supper a little mite early, Wait still? "This was a longer and more amiable speech than he had made in years, but Waitstill never glanced at him as she said: "It is a little early, but I want to get it ready before I leave."
"Be you goin' out? Mind, I won't have you follerin' Patience round; you'll only upset what I've done, an' anyhow I want you to keep away from the neighbors for a few days, till all this blows over."
He spoke firmly, though for him mildly, for he still had the uneasy feeling that he stood on the brink of a volcano; and, as a matter of fact, he tumbled into it the very next moment.
The meagre supper was spread; a plate of cold; soda biscuits, a dried-apple pie, and the usual brown teapot were in evidence; and as her father ceased speaking Waitstill opened the door of the brick oven where the bean-pot reposed, set a chair by the table, and turning, took up her coat (her mother's old riding-cloak, it was), and calmly put it on, reaching then for her hood and her squirrel tippet.
"You are goin' out, then, spite o' what I said?" the Deacon inquired sternly.
"Did you really think, father, that I would sleep under your roof after you had turned my sister out into the snow to lodge with whoever might take her in--my seventeen year-old-sister that your wife left to my care; my little sister, the very light of my life?"
Waitstill's voice trembled a trifle, but other-wise she was quite calm and free from heroics of any sort.
The Deacon looked up in surprise. "I guess you're kind o' h ystericky," he said. "Set down--set down an' talk things over. I a in't got nothin' ag'in' you, an' I mean to treat you right. Set down!"
The old man was decidedly nervous, and intended to keep his temper until there was a safer chance to let it fly.
Waitstill sat down. "There's nothing to talk over," she said. "I h ave done all that I promised my stepmother the night she died, and now I am going. If there's a duty owed between daughter and father, it ought to work both ways. I consider that I have done my share, and now I intend to seek happiness for myself. I have never had any, and I am starving for it."
"An' you'd leave me to git on the best I can, after what I've done for you?" burst out the Deacon, still trying to hold down his growing passion.
"You gave me my life, and I'm thankful to you for that, but you've given me little since, father."
"Hain't I fed an' clothed you?"
"No more than I have fed and clothed you. You've provided the raw food, and I've cooked and served it. You've bought and I have made shirts and overalls and coats for you, and knitted your socks and comforters and mittens. Not only have I toiled and saved and scrimped away my girlhood as you bade me, but I've earned for you. Who made the butter, and took care of the hens, and dried the apples, and 'drew in' the rugs? Who raised and ground the peppers for sale, and tended the geese that you might sell the feathers? No, father, I don't consider that I'm in your debt!"
