“Well, you’ve got business here, an’ ye’ll be tindin’ to it, it’s my opinion. Ye ain’t got time for no sich foolin’. Yer wurruk will kape ye busy. Ye best not be settin’ up fer a schollard. The radin’ an’ the stuff’ll turn your head upside down. Take that!”
Mrs. Quinn gave her a resounding blow with it. Before Dil could fairly see, she had marched over to the stove.
“O mother! mother!” shrieked Dil as she caught her arm.
Mrs. Quinn gave her a push that sent her staggering across the room. She raised the stove-lid, and crowded in the book.
“Ye’ll not waste yer time over any sich nonsense. Git off to bed at wanst, er I’ll make ye see stars! Take that measlin’ brat along wid ye.”
Dil turned the wagon into the small chamber without another word. Bess caught her hands, but neither dared speak.
“Where’s Owny?” the mother demanded.
“I don’t know,” almost sobbed Dil.
“I’ll not hev him runnin’ the streets at night! A foine sister yes are, to be sure, readin’ novils, an’ lettin’ yer pore brother go to destruction! If ye don’t kape him in at night I’ll know the reason why. I’ll lie here a bit, an’ I’ll give him a norful larrupin’ when he comes.”
Mrs. Quinn threw herself down on the old lounge, and in five minutes was snoring as usual. Dil prepared Bess for bed, and rubbed her with a soft mitten she had made. The poor thing trembled so that it was a positive shudder. Then, as the snoring grew louder, they dared to give vent to their own overcharged hearts in tears.