I was looked down upon by nearly every one in the village. To strangers I was pointed out as the convict's son, and people reckoned that the "Widder Canby wasn't right sharp when she took in them as wasn't to be trusted."
I was not over-sensitive, but these remarks, which generally reached my ears sooner or later, made me very angry. What right had people to look down on my sister and myself? It was not fair to Kate and me, and I proposed to stand it no longer.
It was a lovely morning in September, but I was in no mood to enjoy the bright sunshine and clear air that flooded the orchard. I had just come from the depot with the mail for Mrs. Canby, and down there I had heard two men pass opinions on my father's case that were not only uncharitable but unjust.
I was therefore in no frame of mind to put up with Duncan Woodward's actions, and when he spoke of giving me a good drubbing I prepared to defend myself.
"Two can play at that game, Duncan," I replied.
"Ho! ho! Do you mean to say you can stand up against me?" he asked derisively.
"I can try," I returned stoutly. "I'm sure now that you have no business here."
"Why, you miserable little thief&—"
"Stop that! I'm no thief, if you please."
"Well, you're the son of one, and that's the same thing."