“Ye—yes,” mumbled the old man.
“And one more thing. That is, that you will treat your wife and Matilda as women should be treated.”
“They’re well enough off,” declared Old Man Peters suddenly. Then he snarled out, “An’ what bus’ness is it of yours, Mis Pepper, I’d like to know.”
“Very well. If you don’t promise this, I shall see that the injury to my boy is atoned for. I shall give the matter into the hands of the town authorities, Mr. Peters.”
“Here—here—” screamed the old man, flinging out both hands, as she moved off. “Stop, Mis Pepper! I didn’t mean to say I wouldn’t promise. Yes—yes—I do! Will you stop! I say I will!”
“And Badgertown will see that you keep that promise,” said Mrs. Pepper. Then she opened the door. Matilda, who had a shaking eye at the keyhole, nearly fell over backward on the entry oilcloth.
“Oh, Mis Pepper,” she gasped, seizing the strong arm. “Ma’s takin’ on somethin’ awful in th’ sittin’ room.”
“She won’t do that long,” said Mrs. Pepper grimly. “Come, Tildy.”
“Oh me—oh my!” old Mrs. Peters was throwing herself from one side of the rickety sofa in the sitting-room and moaning, with her fingers in her ears, when they came in.
“She’s got th’ high-strikes,” declared Matilda with big eyes. “I must go up garret and git some feathers an’ burn ’em right under her nose.”