“Now, folks say that you have no call to keep this child and treat her just like she was of your own family. You’re bringing her up just as fine as a lady.”
“Why not?” asked Eliza. “She’s a little lady now and I hope she’ll be a big lady by and by. That’s what I’m raising her for.”
Rose’s shears had not missed a snip; but her sharp little eyes narrowed down to slits and her ears pricked themselves up. This was a new subject to her. Wasn’t Beth really Miss Eliza’s little girl after all? The wonder of it was that she had never found out before. Her mouth fairly watered for this morsel of news. Yet she never so much as turned her head or lost one snip with her shears.
“Well, to my way of thinking it hain’t right. Every one I’ve spoke to says the same thing. It hain’t right to take a tramp child and bring her up as though she was somebody. If you’d train her so she’s be handy for working out, folks wouldn’t have so much to say, but you’re spoiling her so that she won’t make even a good hired girl.”
“I don’t want her to be that, Liza Burtsch. She’s just a baby yet. I really haven’t thought much what I’d like her to be. All I think about now is to keep her sweet and wholesome and teach her all that other little girls learn in schools. There’s time enough to think about other things when ten years more have gone.
“There’s something else, Livia Burtsch, that we’ll settle right here. Beth is no tramp child and never was. You have no right to call her that, and I will not allow it.”
“Seems to me that I’ve got a good bit of right. Folks hain’t as blind as you’re suspicioning them, Liza Wells. Tramp child, now what else could she be called but tramp. Maybe she’s worse for all I know. You can’t tell me things, Liza Wells. I’ve lived too long to have the wool pulled over my eyes. You know and I know that no decent self-respecting woman what has a home or any folks is tramping on foot through the country with a baby. No woman that thinks anything of herself is walking through a strange country and taking naps under bushes by the roadside. You can’t tell me. The child’s mother was nothing but a worthless scal—.”
“Stop! Not another word.” Eliza’s voice was low—too low for peace. It was as clear cut and metallic as a blade of steel. Mrs. Burtsch was awed by it. For an instant she looked at Eliza with wide-open eyes and hanging jaw, but she soon recovered her rigidity of feature and posture.
“Well, I guess I’ll say what I see fit to say when it’s the truth. That’s what cuts you, Eliza. It’s the truth and you know it. Tut, tut, what’s the world coming to if folks can’t speak what’s in their mind. Beth’s just a tramp—.”
Eliza had risen. She stood like an offended goddess before the woman. “Not another word in my house, Livia Burtsch. Not another word. You always have been a news-carrier, making trouble wherever you go. I’ve borne with you a good many years without saying a word in return. I’ve put up with it too long. Now, we’ll understand each other. If you can come in my home and visit without carrying news, and slandering everyone in the neighborhood, well and good; you may come and I’ll make you welcome. If you can’t be civil and can’t keep from bothering about my affairs—stay away.”