'And make him eat bread and water and mush?'
'Yes; I believe so.'
'And sleep on a board?'
'Yes, or something as bad.'
'And make him work awful hard until his hands are blistered?'
Now she had in hers Arthur's hands, soft and white as a woman's, and seemed to be calculating how much hard work it would take to blister hands like these.
'Yes, work till his hands drop off,' Arthur said.
With a shudder, she continued:
'I could not bear it: could you?'
'Bear it? No; I should die in a week. Why, what does ail you? You are shaking like a leaf. What are you afraid of?'