"How long has it been going on?" I asked again.
"Oh!—long's I can remember; near about ten years. There was a quarrel about something. Grandmother wanted to visit some one in Vancouver. Grand-dad didn't want her to go. At last he swore by the Word of God if she went he'd never speak to her again. Grandmother cried all night, and next day she went. When she came back, grand-dad wouldn't speak to her; and he ain't ever spoken to her since."
"My God!" I exclaimed with a shudder.
"That's why Joe ain't struck on staying at the ranch. Says it's like a deaf and dumb asylum."
I didn't blame Joe.
Good God! I thought. What a life! What an existence for this poor woman! What a hell on earth!
I became madly enraged at that dour old rascal, who would dare to sour a home for ten years because of a vow made in a moment of temper.
If any one deserved to be stricken dumb forever, surely he was that one! And saying a grace at the tea-table that would put a bishop to scorn,—all on top of this: oh! the devilish hypocrisy of it!
Rita came close to me and laid her head lightly on my shoulder.
"Don't be cross at grand-dad, George. He's a mighty good grand-dad. There ain't a better anywhere. In everything, but speaking to grandmother, he's a good grand-dad."