"You mustn't—I won't stand it any longer."
"Well, it's for yo' good, I reckon. If yo' own mother can't take yo' side, I'd like to know who's goin' to do it?"
"I don't want anybody to take my side. She's got a right not to marry me."
"I ain't saying' she ain't, an' it's a mighty good thing for you that she's sech a plum fool as not to want to. 'Twould be the worst news I'd ever heard if she'd been minded to have you. I'd move heaven an' earth to keep you from marryin' her, an' if the good Lord has done it instead of me, I'm thankful enough to Him for His trouble."
Rising from the table, Abel pushed his untasted food aside with a gesture of loathing. A week ago he had been interested in the minor details of life; to-night he felt that they bored him profoundly.
"If you knew what you were saying you'd hold your tongue," he retorted angrily.
"Ain't you goin' to eat yo' supper?" inquired Sarah anxiously, "that herrin' is real nice and brown."
"I don't want anything. I'm not hungry."
"Mebbe you'd like one of the brandied peaches I'm savin' for Christmas?"
"No, I'm dead beat. I'll go up to sleep pretty soon."