“What do you go round stealin' folks's melons for, young woman? Don't yer folks bring yer up better 'n that? It's a dodrotted shame to 'em, ef they don't. What did ye want with the melons? Don't they give yer enough to eat ter home, hey?”
“We were going to have some supper, sir,” she replied, in a scared, breathless tone, with a little hope of propitiating him by being extremely civil and explicit in her replies.
“Who was havin' supper to this time er night?” he snorted incredulously.
“We girls,” was the faint reply.
“What gals?”
Had she got to tell where she came from and be identified? She couldn't, she wouldn't. But again came that dreadful shake, and the words faltered out:—
“Over at the Seminary, sir.”
“Whew! so ye 're one er them, are ye? What's yer name?”
Cold dew stood on the poor girl's forehead. She was silent. He might kill her, but she would n't disgrace her father's name.
“What's yer name?” he repeated, with another shake.