“Well, there are whaling vessels there. Go there and ask them to take you. Tell your mother you’re going to sea.”
“She’ll cry awful hard. She always does when I talk about runnin’ away.”
“Let her cry! She’ll cry harder if I kill you, won’t she? And I will if you let her keep you here! But don’t tell her why you’re going. Don’t tell her what happened here. Just get away—far—far! and never come back. Oh, you poor thickwitted toad! Oh, God, that such a beast should befoul such a flower! Oh, Immy, Immy! my baby! my little girl.”
He fell against a tree and beat upon its harsh bark and wept, wagging his head and twisting his mouth like a boy’s, while the tears came pelting down.
Keith dared not go to him. He felt that he ought not to spy on his father’s agony. As he slipped through the gap in the rocks, his last backward glance showed him Jud Lasher scrambling weakly to his feet and shambling off into the thicket.
Keith went to his sister where she lay among the trampled leaves. She was crying so softly and wearily that he was afraid to speak to her.
He stood wondering what to do, until, by and by, his father came lurching up and dropped down to her side. Her voice rose at once to a loud wail:
“Papa! bad, bad man—hurt Immy!”
“Hush! hush, sweetness! Don’t tell—don’t tell! Promise papa you’ll never tell anybody about this—not anybody on earth.”
“Not Mamma?”