At the hard words Mrs. Lane grew more rigid. “For thy mother’s sake I have sought to save thee,” she said, “I have even tried to trace her family for I believe they were of better stock than thy vagabond father, but I fear me, lass, that thou art an evil hearted wench. Neither hell fire or earthly love can move thee. Mistress Knowles hath told me that over and again thou art seen with Jack Martin; thou art a shameless one!”
“Jack was my only friend when all the other boys and girls turned on me, ’tis not like I’d forget Jack.” There was a dangerous flash in Debby’s eyes.
“I forbid thee ever speaking to the rascal again. Dost hear?”
“Yes.”
“Wilt thou obey?”
“No.” A cruel blow almost threw Debby from the porch. She gathered herself up and turned a set, white face to her mistress.
“Now go to thy room, Deborah, for the love of thy soul have I chastised thee. After evening prayers to-night I will come to thy room. If thou art repentant, I will overlook thy insolence, but mark my words, dost thou repeat the offence, girl, I will lay the rod across thy shoulders, until I have conquered thy spirit. During the day,” she added, “think of thy mother, and of how she would have grieved o’er thee.”
Debby had had a hasty answer ready for Mrs. Lane, but the last words quieted her. Silently she shuffled to her room on the second floor far to the back of the house. Closing the door she sank down near the window and began to think in real earnest. The day wore wearily away. Strong, energetic Debby chafed under the enforced idleness. She thought of her mother, and hot stinging tears filled her eyes.
Here was her chance to be decent and respectable slipping from her, while she was growing worse and worse. She thought of her father away somewhere—where, she knew not, though she had pleaded with Jack Martin to try and find out. What was the poor, weak father doing?
Perhaps he was dead, and she would never see him again! That thought always made her strong young body quiver. Bits of strange talk, always hushed when she drew near, came to her now in those long hours of imprisonment. Rumors of a battle at Lexington where the farmers had dared face the King’s men. It had never occurred to Debby before, but perhaps her father was among those brave men. Or, perhaps, he had been at the later battle of Bunker Hill, and had fallen fighting in the unequal struggle, as so many other rebels had who dared to resist King George.