"Oh, Gran, don't!" she cried imploringly; "you're hurting me!" Then, as Mrs. Berryman's grasp of her shoulder did not relax, she gave herself a sudden twist and freed herself. "What have I done to make you angry again?" she demanded.
"You've been telling tales to that woman next door," Mrs. Berryman said wrathfully,—"telling tales of me—your grandmother! You wicked, ungrateful girl! Mrs. Jones had the impertinence to stop me in the street just now and take me to task for boxing your ears last night when you smashed that teacup; you must have complained to her or she wouldn't have known!"
"I did tell her about it," Melina admitted; "I was in the yard—crying—and she spoke to me over the wall. I didn't mean to break the teacup, it slipped from my fingers when I was wiping it; and you hit me so hard that my head's been aching ever since. You had no right to do it—no, you hadn't! It was shameful of you!" She spoke defiantly, but took care to keep out of her grandmother's reach.
"I've the right to do as I please where you're concerned," Mrs. Berryman declared, "and so I let Mrs. Jones know!"
"I hope you weren't rude to her," Melina said, her voice betraying anxiety; "she's been very kind to me lately, and she was kind to you when you were ill. Don't you remember what a nice custard she made you, and—"
"We've no need of her kindness," Mrs. Berryman broke in; "and look here, my girl, if I ever find out that you've been telling tales to her again, I'll—I'll beat you as long as I've strength to hold a stick!"
The old woman looked as though she was quite capable of putting her threat into action, and Melina, cowed and trembling, slipped out of the kitchen and ran upstairs to her own room, her heart beating with mingled indignation and fear; for she saw that her grandmother had been drinking and was, in consequence, in a quarrelsome mood. A short while later she heard the front door open and shut, and guessed that Mrs. Berryman had gone out—most probably to get more drink.
The little girl now went downstairs, and ascertained, as she had expected, that she was locked into the cottage. She did not mind that, but what she did mind was the fact that she could not find anything to eat. Tears of self-pity filled her eyes, for she was hungry.
"It's too bad of Gran to go off like this," she muttered; "I suppose she means to keep me without tea for punishment for telling Mrs. Jones how hard she hit me last night. I wonder what Mrs. Jones said to her—I should have liked to have heard."
She went upstairs to her room again, and, taking her mother's Bible from the drawer in which she kept it, sat down on the bed, opening the book at random. The first words she read were these: "Beloved, let us love one another; for love is of God; and everyone that loveth is born of God and knoweth God. He that loveth not, knoweth not God; for God is love."