"I only wish Aunt Felicia was here! You will spoil these people, Daisy, that's one thing, or you would if you were older. As it is, you are spoiling yourself."
I made no answer. He went on with other angry and excited words, wishing to draw me out, perhaps; but I was in no mood to talk to Preston in any tone but one. I went steadily and slowly on, without even turning my head to look at him. I had hardly life enough to talk to him in that tone.
"Will you tell me what is the matter with you?" he said, at last, very impatiently.
"I am tired, I think."
"Think? Medusa is stiffening the life out of you. Think you are tired! You are tired to death; but that is not all. What ails you?"
"I do not think anything ails me."
"What ails me, then? What is the matter? What makes you act so? Speak, Daisy—you must speak!"
I turned about and faced him, and I know I did not speak then as a child, but with a gravity befitting fifty years.
"Preston, did you strike Uncle Darry yesterday?"