“Of all the impertinent boys!” exclaimed the parson’s sister, an angry flush spreading over her gaunt face. “Well, I’m not going, I can tell you that. And I shall come every day and do my duty by you, David Pepper.”
“No,” said David, “you mustn’t come any more.”
“And I am going to speak to your Ma now, and tell her what a naughty boy you are.” Miss Jerusha picked up her gingham gown and went off on angry feet out of the woodshed.
David ran past her, and up to the door of the little brown house. When she got there he was holding the latch with both hands.
“You get off that door-step!” cried Miss Jerusha, now in a towering passion, and seizing his little calico blouse, “I declare I just ache to give you a whipping!” She raised one long hand threateningly. “You don’t get any with that silly mother of yours. Get off that door-step, I say! It’s my duty to speak to your Ma.”
“You can’t,” said Davie stoutly, “because you can’t get in.” He gripped the latch tighter, and his blue eyes flashed just like Mother Pepper’s black ones.
“Can’t, hey?” Miss Jerusha’s hard hand was laid not very gently on David’s little ones holding the old latch. Her other was raised threateningly. “Let go of that latch, or I’ll box your ears.”
Davie clung tighter than ever to the latch. Down came Miss Jerusha’s hand on his small ear. An angry red spot was on her cheek, and she struck again.
“What’s this—what’s this?” Doctor Fisher came briskly up the path. The parson’s sister turned suddenly, her hand falling to her side.
“This boy has been very naughty,” she said, the blood rushing over her gaunt cheeks.