"Oh! Don't be afraid!" I said. "I wouldn't touch you for worlds. If you wish, you can stay and 'pig' it in there for all eternity. I'm certainly not going to ask you into my house again."
I looked at his mud-stained beard, his grubby face, his dirty clothes, and his filthy hands, and suddenly my anger gave way to a feeling of disgust and repulsion.
Without another word, I turned, and strode quickly towards the house.
[CHAPTER VI]
GRAN'PA REFORMS
The immediate result of this latest of Gran'pa's outbreaks was that he stopped in his dug-out all night! About eleven o'clock that evening, after Molly had had a hot bath and gone to bed, I cooled down sufficiently to go out and see what had become of him. And there he was—crouched pathetically in front of a bright stick fire, looking like the sole survivor of some lost tribe of ancient wanderers. His head was in his hands, his beard hung tragically between his knees, and his back was bent in a dismal arch of resignation under the bludgeonings of Fate.
But the moment I tried to persuade him to behave like a reasonable man and come indoors, his attitude changed to one of stark, brute fury. He sprang to his feet and stood glaring and growling at me, as if he were some wild animal at bay. The firelight danced on his muddy and saturated clothes, and threw a weird, jumping, ape-like shadow on the wall of the dug-out. His eyes shone like balls of fire.
"Get out!" he said hoarsely. And then, with an ominous calm: "By God! if you don't, I'll brain you!"
He seized a huge, twisted branch, whose one end had been helping to feed the fire, and waved it, torch-like, in my face.
I floundered backwards, through the mud and water until I reached the level of the garden above.