She was fingering a ruffle on her dress just above her knees in an embarrassed way.
"Wouldn't let you go!" I exclaimed, indignantly ... "Why?"
"A man had it—a young man—'n' Granny hates men, 'specially young men."
"Why does she hate young men?"
"I don' know—you heard whut she said 'bout 'em. She's always preachin' that to me."
I thought my former reading of Granny's attitude correct now, but I did not speak of this to Lessie.
"Granny has done you a great injustice," I said, gravely; "however honest her intentions. I'm going to see that you have a chance, Dryad. But if I'm to help you, I must speak of things exactly as they are, and there shall have to be many corrections. You won't mind this, will you? I mean you will understand why it is done—that it is absolutely necessary for you to get along. You won't take offense—won't get mad, will you?"
She turned her eyes full into mine, her mobile face for the moment serious and calm.
"I'll do anythin' to learn—to know! Oh! I git so lonesome fur—fur knowin'! I'm all shet up, 'n' they's things in my head 'n' in here that's jes' bustin' to git out!"
She placed her hand on her breast. Her brows had drawn together and I knew each word was the exact truth.