Lydia nodded. "Oh, I don't know what to do!" And then, not having meant to do so at all, she suddenly began to cry.
"Why can't they let you alone, damn 'em!" exclaimed Billy, furiously. "Come away from that cold doorway, dear." And he led her into the warm stable and over to a harness box. "There," pulling her down beside him on the box, and putting his arm about her, "don't cry, Lydia. I can't stand it. I'm liable to go over and say things to your father and Kent."
There was an edge to his voice as he said this that vaguely alarmed
Lydia. She wiped her eyes.
"Kent wasn't there," she said.
"No, but he's behind your father in this. I'll tell 'em both, sometime, what I think of their bullying you this way."
"Kent hasn't bullied me," insisted Lydia.
"No? Well, give him time! Poor little girl! Don't tremble so. You don't have to talk any more about it to any one. Just send 'em to me."
Lydia smiled through her tears. "I can't send my own father to you.
And you and Kent would come to blows."
"We probably would," replied Billy. "Want my hanky or haven't you wept yours full yet?"
"I'm not going to cry any more," said Lydia, raising her head. Billy still held her warmly in the circle of his arm. The stable was dim and quiet and fragrant with clover. "You're such a comfort, Billy. Now that John Levine's gone, there's no one understands me as you do. How can I reconcile Dad to giving up the land?"