That night when Ben Holt went home he found the house dark and apparently forsaken. Miss Betsey sat rocking in her chair in solitude and darkness, and she rocked on, taking no notice when Ben came in.
“Have you got a sick headache, Aunt Betsey?” said Ben after a little; he did not ask for information, but for the sake of saying something to break the ominous silence. He knew well Aunt Betsey always had a sick headache and was troubled when he had been doing wrong.
“I shall get over it, I expect, as I have before; talking won’t help it.”
Ben considered the matter a little. “I don’t know that,” said he, “it depends some on what there is to say, and you don’t need to have sick headache this time, for I haven’t been doing anything that you would think bad.”
Miss Betsey laughed unpleasantly.
“What has that to do with it?”
“Well, I haven’t been doing anything bad, anyhow.”
“Only just breaking Sunday in the face and eyes of all Gershom. You are not a child to be punished now. Go to bed.”
“I don’t know about breaking Sunday; I didn’t any more than old Mr Fleming. He didn’t care about going to Jacob’s meeting, and no more did Clif and me. We went along a piece, and then we went to the Scott school-house to meeting. It was a first-rate meeting.”
“What about Mr Fleming; has he and Jacob been having trouble?” asked Miss Betsey, forgetting in her curiosity her controversy with Ben.