“Well, she is—an’ one ‘o the best of the lot,” said Dolliver, and he smiled comfortably at Ruth.
“Huh! whad-she wanter be in comp’ny of that brat ’o mine, then?” demanded Perkins, gathering up his reins.
“Oh! are you hunting that orphanage gal ye took to raise? I heard she couldn’t stand you and Ma Perkins no longer,” Dolliver said, with sarcasm.
“Never you mind. I’ll git her,” said Perkins, and whipped up his horses.
“Oh, dear, me!” cried Ruth, when he had gone. “What a terrible man, Mr. Dolliver.”
“Yah!” scoffed the old driver. “Jest a bag of wind. Mean as can be, but a big coward. Meanes’ folks around here, them Perkinses air.”
“But why were they allowed to have that poor girl, then?” demanded Ruth.
“They went a-fur off to git her. Clean to Harburg. Nobody knowed ’em there, I s’pose. Why, Ma Perkins kin act like butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth, if she wants to. But I sartainly am sorry for that poor little Sade Raby, as they call her.”
“Oh! I do pity her so,” said Ruth, sadly.
The old man’s eyes twinkled. Old Dolliver was sly! “Then ye do know suthin’ about Sade—jes’ as Perkins said?”