“But I am sure your father isn’t fit to leave the house,” Ruth said. “Surely, you know you are welcome to remain till he is quite well.”
“We’ve got no business here. We never ought to’ve come,” said Barnabetta.
“Why not? You make us no trouble. I am sure you have been treated kindly.”
“What for?” snapped Barnabetta. “You folks have got no call to treat us kind. We’re nothin’ to you.”
“Oh, Barnabetta! I thought we were friends,” the Corner House girl said, really grieved by this. “I would not keep you a moment longer than you wish to stay; but I hope you understand that you and Mr. Scruggs are perfectly welcome here.
“And I don’t want you to go away in those boy’s clothes, Barnabetta. You tell me your other clothing is all in your trunk at the express office in Tiverton. Why not send for it? But the frock and other things I let you have, I meant for you to keep.”
“I don’t want ’em,” said Barnabetta, ungratefully. “If we’ve got to tramp it, I can’t be bothered with skirts.”
“But my dear!” cried Ruth, desperately, “your father can’t walk. Of course he can’t!”
“We’ve got to get down South where we can get a job with some tent show,” Barnabetta declared, deaf to Ruth’s objections.
“Mr. Scruggs! You know you can’t get there,” Ruth cried. “And if you really must go, Barnabetta—”