“I’m a mite behind in my work,” she confessed to her young visitors. “These infernal rains set a body back. Fer three days I couldn’t get my washin’ hung, an’ I never will git my corn dried less I do it in the oven.”
“Speaking of rain,” Penny began hesitantly, “Don’t you think it’s dangerous to remain here much longer?”
“Maybe it is, maybe it ain’t,” the old lady retorted. “Either way I’m not worryin’. There ain’t nothin’ going to put me off my place—not even a flood.”
“Joe Quigley thinks that you and the Burmasters both should move to a safer place.”
“Then let ’em go fust,” Mrs. Lear declared. “Didn’t Mrs. Burmaster steal the deed to my land jest fer meanness and spite? If I was dumb enough to leave this place fer an hour she’d find some way to git it away from me.”
“That couldn’t be done so easily,” smiled Penny. “After all, Mr. Burmaster has more sense than his wife. Did you never talk to him about the missing deed?”
“We had words,” Mrs. Lear said with emphasis. “’Course he stood up fer his wife—said she’d never do such a thing. But I know better!”
“Yet since the deed disappeared no one has tried to put you off your land.”
“That’s cause the Burmasters are waitin’ their chance. Oh, they’re sly and cunning. But I’m jest as smart as they are, and they’ll never git me off this place!”
The discussion, Penny felt, was traveling in the same familiar circle. One could not influence Mrs. Lear. Her mind had been made up. Nothing would move her.