“Look here, Ellen Brewster, this ain't true?” she stammered.
“Yes, grandma,” answered Ellen. “I have thought it all over, and it is the only thing for me to do.”
Her grandmother clutched her arm, and the girl felt as if she were in the grasp of another will, which was more conclusive than steel.
“You sha'n't!” she said, whispering, lest Andrew should hear, but with intense force.
“I've got to, grandma. We've got to have the money.”
“The money,” said the old woman, with an inflection of voice and a twist of her features indicative of the most superb scorn—“the money! I guess you ain't goin' to lose such a chance as that for money. I guess I've got two hundred and ten dollars a year income, and I'll give up a half of that, and Andrew can put a mortgage on the house, if that Tenny woman has got to be supported because her husband has run off and left her and her young one. You sha'n't go to work in a shop.”
“I've got to, grandma,” said Ellen.
The old woman looked at her. It was like a duel between two strong wills of an old race. “You sha'n't,” she said.
“Yes, I shall, grandma.”
Then the old woman turned upon her in a fury of rage.