Elinor was silent.
"Say it!" she repeated. But Elinor was still.
"Do you want to be beaten?" Martha asked in a terrible voice. "Do you?"
Elinor found her voice. "No," she said in Polish. "No, please do not beat me, but I cannot beg. My brother will come soon and get me. I do not want any supper. I will wait for him."
Martha sat down, the stick still in her hand, and thrust her ugly face close to the child's.
"Hear me!" she growled. "Your brother will never come for you. He is dead. Dead, I tell you! You will never see him again. You are going to live here with me, and you are going to do just what I tell you or I shall beat you so you will never forget it. Now do you understand?"
Elinor looked her steadily in the eyes.
"Yes," she said.
"Then say what I told you," said Martha, getting to her feet.
Elinor looked at her, then reading the threat in her eyes, she said,
"Please, we are starving." It seemed more than her independent spirit
could bear even with the fear of the stick on her heart. She added,
"Some day I shall ran away."