“Abraham, don’t be a fool!” cried Licorice, so very snappishly that it sounded as if her conscience might have responded a little to the accusation.
“I cannot but think thou didst evil, Licorice,—thou knowest how and when.”
“I understand thee, of course. It was the only thing to do.”
“I know thou saidst so,” answered Abraham in an unconvinced tone. “Yet it went to my heart to hear the poor child’s sorrowful moan.”
“Thy heart is stuffed with feathers.”
“I would rather it were so than with stones.”
“Thanks for the compliment!”
“Nay, I said nothing about thee. But, Licorice, if it be as thou thinkest, do not let us repeat that mistake.”
“I shall repeat no mistakes, I warrant thee.”
The conversation ceased rather suddenly, except for one mournful exclamation from Abraham,—“Poor Anegay!”