For a moment Amy was staggered by this view of her brother's. Then it dropped into its proper place in the argument, and she went on:—
"It would be pleasanter to work for somebody else. But there is nobody else. I think Mr. Wingate has very little to do with the employees of the mill. It's Mr. Metcalf who pays them, and he's a dear, good friend already. I'm going to see him this afternoon. I asked Gwendolyn to tell him I was coming, but I suppose he thinks it is about selling Balaam. He's ready to take him off your hands if you want to part with him. That seventy-five dollars he paid for Pepita and the saddle and harness was such a blessing. It carried us through; we couldn't have done without it, unless we'd let Mr. Wingate help."
"Never! Well, I suppose he'll have to take him. If I can't work, I can give up, as well as you."
"No, Hal, I don't want to sell him yet. Wait till the last thing and we can't help it. Do try to think kindly of what I'm doing, dear. Down in my heart I'm pretty proud, too. But you start home. I'll take a bit of lunch and then start out to seek my fortune. Wish me luck, laddie; or, rather, bid me God-speed."
She lifted her face for his kiss, and he gave it heartily. It was to the sensitive, proud, undisciplined boy the very hardest moment of his life, save and apart from his bereavement.
"To think, Amy, little sister, that I, who should be your protector and supporter, am just—this!"
"Hush! you shall not point so contemptuously to those poor legs. I think they are very good legs, indeed. There's nothing the matter with them except that they won't move. They've been indulged so long—"
"Amy, I don't understand you. First you seem so cheerful; then you make light of my lameness. Are you forgetful, or what?"
"Not forgetful, nor hard-hearted. Just 'what,' which means that I believe you could learn to walk if you would."
"Amy! Amy!!"