"You'se lyin'," she said huskily.
The heat of vindicated vanity was in Zack's blood, and nothing would have kept him from rushing into details; dwelling upon each, and making them swell in all directions as he watched her ponderous frame heave with excitement. Finally she had the whole story, and enough exaggeration to dress up the entire calendar of crime. For several minutes she sat looking at her folded hands.
"I'se 'most sorry you tol' me dat," she said in a weak, pathetic voice. "But," squaring herself around at him with the former, towering strength, "don' you tell no one else! Heah me? Come on, now, an' hitch up mah buggy, whilst I call Miss Liz to look arter dis li'l gal. I'se gwine home fer awhile!"
In spite of the physical vigor which accompanied this, it was a very much saddened old woman who drove slowly along the pike, squinting her eyes to keep out its glare. Her lips moved as she talked over to herself the events made known by Zack, or the excuses she was building up for Dale. She was passing Hewlet's house now, when a woman's voice, high, whiney and querulous, floated out to her.
"Let the gal alone, Tom! Yer've done near bruised her arm off now, as 'tis!"
Aunt Timmie reined in.
"An' you kin keep yoh durned mouth shet," a man yelled, evidently in great excitement. "She ain't no moh yourn than she is mine, I reckon; an' she's goin' to git that money from her 'ristocratic friend, or I'll know why! Will you git it?" There was a sound of scuffle, as though someone were shaking another.
"No, I won't," a girl's voice came breathlessly.
There followed, then, the unmistakable sound of a blow, and more frantic protestations from the whining Mrs. Hewlet.
Aunt Timmie waited no longer. She climbed laboriously over the rickety wheel, pushed through the tottering gate, waddled up the sunbaked path lined with jimpson-weeds which were a-buzz with June-bugs, and hesitated just long enough to judge the carrying capacity of the decaying porch. She well knew the risks invited by going in here. If Tom were drunk enough and infuriated enough to strike his step-daughter, what might an old negress expect? And she reasonably well surmised the circumstances underlying Tom's present demand. She had not forgotten a fragment of Brent's conversation with the Colonel one day while she was gathering up their empty goblets, nor had Zack carried messages without her knowledge. It seemed that Aunt Timmie's over-powering presence had a faculty of drawing the innermost secrets from his small body and storing them in her own big frame, as though they were in need of a safer depository. Zack appreciated this, which was excuse enough for him. And, indeed, if they found their way only to Aunt Timmie's hospitable bosom, all situations were safe. She now knocked at the door and the noises abruptly stopped. Then it was jerked open by Tom who stood glaring at her.