Ber. (quietly). And yet loving her you ask her to marry a man she doesn’t love. Kind of curious, ain’t it?
Abner (furiously). Now see here, Cranberry, that’s my business.
Ber. (decidedly). It’s mine, also. She is my daughter. If you will not give the girl happiness, I will take her from you and give it to her myself.
Abner (desperately). You mean that—that——
Ber. Just this! Drop this Nat Williams business and never take it up again, and give Miss Cynthy Tinker what you owe her.
Abner. What do you know about Cynthy Tinker?
Ber. What does it matter? I know you have been cheating her for years. Do you want me to go into details?
Abner (hastily). No. Supposing I refuse?
Ber. Well, it will be my gain. I shall be able to find a little happiness with my daughter. I only had her a year. I only had her mother two years. Then they were both taken from me at the same time. I’ve had a lonely life, always at sea or keeping a light on some dismal point. Often when the gales have come and the storms have lashed around the old house and there’s been nobody but jest old Cranberry and his pipe, I have looked around my lonely settin’ room and wondered how it would seem to have Alicia on the other side of the fire and a little girl on the floor near by.
Abner. My heaven, Berry, I hadn’t thought of your part of this!