"I must leave with it!" repeated Mrs. Gower, rising from her seat, and speaking quietly, but firmly.
"Sit down, ma'am—sit down, sit down! Oh, Lord! let me catch my breath! Leave with it! Just say that over again, will you? I don't think I heard right."
"Your ears have not deceived you, Squire Erliston. I repeat it, if that child leaves, I leave, too!"
You should have seen Squire Erliston then, as he sat bolt upright, his little round eyes ready to pop from their sockets with consternation, staring at good Mrs. Gower much like a huge turkey gobbler. That good lady stood complacently waiting, with her hand on the handle of the door, for what was to come next.
She had not to long wait; for such a storm of rage burst upon her devoted head, that anybody else would have fled in dismay. But she, "good, easy soul," was quite accustomed to that sort of thing, and stood gazing upon him as serenely as a well-fed Biddy might on an enraged barn-yard chanticleer. And still the storm of abuse raged, interspersed with numerous quotations from Solomon—by way, doubtless, of impressing her that his wrath was righteous. And still Mrs. Gower stood serene and unruffled by his terrible denunciations, looking as placid as a mountain lake sleeping in the sunlight.
"Well, ma'am, well; what do you think of your conduct now?" exclaimed the squire, when the violence of his rage was somewhat exhausted.
"Just what I did before, sir."
"And what was that, eh?—what was that?"
"That I have done right, sir; and that I will keep the child!"
"You will?" thundered the squire, in an awful voice.