"I'm gittin' out o' this country myself," said he. "It's too pious for me."
By and by we passed Rovin' Kate. I could just discern her ragged form by the roadside and called to her. He struck his horse and gave me a rude shake and bade me shut up.
It was dark and I felt very cold and began to wish myself home in bed.
"Ain't we most to the Dunkelbergs'?" I asked.
"No—not yet," he answered.
I burst into tears and he hit me a sounding whack in the face with his hand.
"No more whimperin'," he shouted. "Do ye hear me?"
He hurt me cruelly and I was terribly frightened and covered my face and smothered my cries and was just a little quaking lump of misery.
He shook me roughly and shoved me down on the buggy floor and said:
"You lay there and keep still; do you hear?"