Then Nettie laughed outright, but added, after a moment of silence, "But, Jerry, I think the worst of it is about father; and that is true, you know. They might not think so much about the clothes, if it were not for him."
"That has nothing to do with it," said Jerry sturdily. "You are not to blame for your father's drinking liquor. Wouldn't you stop it quick enough if you could? It is only another reason why they ought to be friends to you. Besides, there wouldn't be so much of the stuff for folks to drink, if Lorena Barstow's father did not make it."
"O Jerry! does he?"
"Yes, he does. Owns one of the largest distilleries in the country."
"Jerry, I think I would rather have my father drink liquor than make it for other folks. At least he doesn't make money out of other people's troubles."
"So would I, enough sight," said Jerry with emphasis. Then he lifted up his voice in answer to Mrs. Job Smith who appeared in the adjoining door. "All right, auntie, we are coming." And he carefully gathered the chips he had whittled, into his handkerchief, and rose up.
"Going over now, Nettie? I guess auntie thinks it is time to lock up."
Nettie darted within for a few minutes, then appeared, and they crossed the yard together. As they stepped on the lower step of Mrs. Smith's porch, Jerry said: "Remember this is a bargain forever and aye, Nettie; there is to be no backing out, and no caring for what folks say, or for what happens, either now or afterwards. Do you promise?"
"I promise," said Nettie with a smile. And they went into the clean kitchen. Before Jerry went to bed that night he took out of the fly leaf of his Bible the picture of a tall man, and kissed it, as he said aloud: "So you have run away and left your poor little Irish boy, have you? But when you run back again, won't they all be glad to see you, though!"