“Yes,” said Mrs. Willis, sternly. But she paled to the lips.
“I don’t think so,” said Patience, slowly. “I think a body’d ort to have a chance if they want to live better, without havin’ anybody a-pryin’ into their effairs exceptin’ God. But if you don’t agree with me, I’m ready to confess-up all I’ve done bad. I guess you recollect, Mis’ Willis, thet your ’Lizy and me was just of an age, to a day?”
Mrs. Willis’s lips moved, but the words stuck in her throat.
“And how we ust to play together and stay nights with each other. We loved each other, Mis’ Willis. You ust to give us big slices o’ salt-risin’ bread, spread thick with cream and sprinkled with brown sugar—I can just see you now, a-goin’ out to the spring-house to get the cream. And I can just taste it, too, when I get good and hungry.”
“What’s all this got to do with your a-owning up?” demanded Mrs. Willis, fiercely. “What’s my ’Lizy got to do with your going away that time? Where was you at, Patience Appleby?”
“I’m comin’ to that,” said Patience, calmly; but a deep flush came upon her face. “I’ve attoned-up fer that time, if any mortal bein’ ever did, Mis’ Willis. I’ve had a hard life, but I’ve never complained, because I thought the Lord was a-punishin’ me. But I have suffered.... Thirty year, Mis’ Willis, of prayin’ to be fergive fer one sin! But I ain’t ever see the day I could confess-up to ’t—and I couldn’t now, except to ’Lizy’s mother.”
An awful trembling shook Mrs. Willis’s heart. She looked at Patience with straining eyes. “Go on,” she said, hoarsely.
“’Lizy and me was fourteen on the same day. She was goin’ to Four Corners to visit her a’nt, but I had to stay at home and work. I was cryin’ about it when, all of a sudden, ’Lizy says—“Patience, let’s up and have a good time on our birthday!”
“Well, let’s,” I says, “but how?”
“I’ll start fer Four Corners and then you run away, and I’ll meet you, and we’ll go to Springville to the circus and learn to ride bareback”—