“Is that it?”
Her lids fluttered and closed, she caught her breath quickly, her lips apart, then looked far into the distance.
“Yes, Jim, I'm afraid—that's it.” The little figure drooped, and she stood before him with lowered eyes, unarmed. Jim looked at her helplessly, then shook his big, stupid head.
“Ain't that hell?”
It seemed such a short time to Jim since he had picked her up, a cooing babe, at her dead mother's side. He watched the tender, averted face. Things had turned out so differently from what he had planned.
“And he didn't care about you—like that?” he asked, after a pause.
“No, not in that way.” She was anxious to defend the pastor from even the thought of such a thing. “He was good and kind always, but he didn't care THAT WAY. He's not like that.”
“I guess I'll have a talk with him,” said Jim, and he turned to go.
“Talk!” she cried.
He stopped and looked at her in astonishment. It was the first time that he had ever heard that sharp note in her voice. Her tiny figure was stiffened with decision. Her eyes were blazing.