“Can I see Annie?”
“No, sir!” sez I plain and square—jest as plain and jest as square as if my own heart wuzn’t a-achin’, and a-achin’ hard, too, for the miserable, broken-hearted man.
My tears, if they fell, and I spoze they did from my feelin’s, fell inside of my head; for I wouldn’t let him have a chance to misuse and torment that good little creeter agin, not if I could help it.
He trembled like a popple leaf. He wuz paler than any dish-cloth I ever see, and I see my advantage, and I hardened my heart, some like Pharo’s, only a more pious hardenin’, for it wuz done on principle.
“You talk of wantin’ that poor girl to go back to your cold, naked home, to hardship, to starvation, to wretchedness—bodily wretchedness and heart wretchedness. For she loves you still, you poor snipe, you; she loves you, fool that she is, but wimmen are weak.”
I see his face grow brighter for a minute, and then turn pale as death agin.
“Will she forgive me?” sez he in axents weak as a cat, and weaker, too, and fur hopelesser than any cat I ever see.
“Not if I can help it!” sez I heartlessly (on the outside) and boldly.
“I’ll do better. I’ll promise her to not drink another drop!”
“Promises are cheap,” sez I in a lofty way, a-lookin’ up into a tree, for his pale face weakened me, and I felt that I must be strong. So I looked up into the tree overhead. It wuz a slippery ellum, but I held firm.