"You seem to forget whom you are speaking to. If you think you can bully me, you will find yourself entirely mistaken."
"I am not in the habit of bullying anybody. I only want my rights," said John.
"Then you'll have to want. You may as well understand, first as last, John Oakley,"—and his stepmother raised her voice angrily,—"that I am mistress in this house, and owner of this property. You are entirely dependent upon me for the bread you eat and the clothes you wear, and it will be prudent for you to treat me respectfully, if you want any favors. Do you understand that?"
"I understand what you say, Mrs. Oakley," said John, indignantly. "You seem to have forgotten that every cent of this property belonged to my father, and would now be mine, if my father had not married you. You had better remember that, when you talk about my being dependent upon you, and favor Ben at my expense."
Mrs. Oakley turned white with rage.
"What do you mean by your impertinence, you young rascal?" she shrieked, rising to her feet, and glaring at John.
"I mean this," he exclaimed, thoroughly provoked, "that I don't believe my father ever intended to leave you all his property. I believe there is another will somewhere, and I mean to find it."
"Leave the room!" exclaimed Mrs. Oakley, in a voice almost inarticulate with rage. "You'll repent those words, John Oakley. You're in my power, and I'll make you feel it."
John left the room, his anger hot within him. When he reflected coolly upon what had passed, he did repent having spoken about the will. It might set Mrs. Oakley upon the track, and if she found it, he feared that she would have no scruples in destroying it, and then his last chance of obtaining his rights would be gone.