"Is it? Well, I do declare! It seems I can't do nothin' but what I git in the papers. I don't need to talk to git writ up; my money talks for me. What did they say?"
The lawyer drew a paper from his pocket and handed it to Drusilla. She took her glasses from her forehead, where they had been resting, and read aloud: MISS DRUSILLA DOANE, THE FRIEND OF THE FRIENDLESS.
"Well, ain't that nice of 'em!" she stopped to comment; then she went on reading.
"They seem to have it all down," she said, handing the paper back to Mr. Thornton.
He looked at her with the air he used when trying to frighten witnesses who opposed him.
"Of course, you will deny all this. You will make a statement that it is all a mistake, and that you do not intend to give these—these—wanderers a home."
"Now, that's a good word, Mr. Thornton; that's jest what they are—wanderers. But they won't be wanderers no more; they've found a home."
"What do you mean?"
"Jest what I said, Mr. Thornton. I mean to give that mother and her baby a home."
"I do not understand you at all, Miss Doane; or at least I hope I am mistaken in your meaning."