"Not likely to be happy with their sort of way of going on," said Susan. "But if there's anything I can do—Sit down," she repeated.
No, Bess declined to obey. She came a step forward, with glowering eyes.
"It wasn't my wish to come," she declared. "I'm not one of them who'll go where they're not wanted. And she'd ought to have known better than to bring me. I don't say I'm fit company for her, neither. Only, she's always got a kind word for me—and I did think—maybe—but it don't matter! I'll go my own way, and I'll never trouble nobody again—never! It don't matter. Folks are born to be miserable, I suppose. And there's nobody to care. It don't matter. So, good-bye."
"O mother!" cried Nancy in distress, tears filling her eyes, as Bess turned away.
But it was not Nancy's cry which made Susan Dunn stand up and move swiftly between Bess and the door, with a face which had softened all at once into motherly pity. Another thought had come to Susan—the thought of One who did care, who cared so much for poor rough Bess as to have given up His life for her on Calvary. How would it be in His eyes, if Susan let this poor untaught girl wander away without the help which she craved?
"Good-bye; I'm going," repeated Bess hoarsely. "Let me go."
"No, my dear. You're not going yet," said Susan, in resolute tones. "Nannie's right to bring you in. You're not going yet. You just take your shawl off your head, and sit down and tell me what's the matter. And you needn't say again that nobody cares. Come, child, sit down!"
That conquered Bess. She took the seat indicated and laying her head on the table, broke into heavy sobs.
"Come, now—come!" repeated Susan. "Don't you be so upset. Tell me what's wrong, and we'll see if I can't help you put things right." Then, with a sudden thought, "Is it anything my Nannie shouldn't hear? I'll send her away, if it is. She don't know the bad ways of some of you girls; and I don't choose she should, as long as I can keep her from it."
Bess choked down her sobs, and sat up with heaving chest.