Instinctively he had shrunk from asking his mother this question, and pride had forbidden his seeking the knowledge elsewhere.
“Some day, when you are older, you will know all about it. But remember, when any one says anything like what Jud did, that yer ma wouldn’t want fer you to hev thoughts of killin’. You see, you fought jest as well––probably better––when you hed cooled off a mite and hed promised to fight fair. And ef you can’t wrastle your temper and down it as you did Jud, you’re not a fust-class fighter.”
“I’ll try,” said David slowly, unable, however, to feel much remorse for his outbreak.
“Jud’ll let you alone arter this. You’d better go to bed now. You need a little extry sleep.”
M’ri came into his room when he was trying to mend a long rent in his shirt. He flushed uncomfortably when her eye fell on the garment. She took it from him.
“I’ll mend it, David. I don’t wonder that 64 your patience slipped its leash, but––never fight when you have murder in your heart.”
When she had left the room, Janey’s face, pink and fair as a baby rose, looked in at the door.
“It’s very wicked to fight and get so mad, Davey.”
“I know it,” he acknowledged readily. It was useless trying to make a girl understand.
There was a silence. Janey still lingered.