“I didn’t ruin it!” Joe retorted, desperately enough. “I had to save the man’s life. It was the only way!”
“Stuff and nonsense!” snapped the deacon.
“No nonsense at all!” cried Joe, his temper now thoroughly aroused. “I just had to do it!”
“Don’t talk back to me!” cried his foster-father. “I’ll teach you not to be impudent to me!” He drew back his hand as though to strike Joe, but the latter, after an involuntary closing of his fist, stepped back out of the way. Joe’s face was pale.
“I’ll not take a blow from you, sir. Not any more,” he said in a quiet voice.
“You won’t, eh?” stormed the deacon. “We’ll see what you’ll take and won’t take! You’ll pay for that suit, that’s sure! And we’ll see who’s boss here! I’ll strike you if I like! You’re not of age yet! Now go to your room. I don’t want to act hastily. Go to your room at once, before I get angry,” and, with a stamp of his foot, the old man raised a stern hand and pointed to the stairway.
Joe turned aside without a word.
CHAPTER VII
MR. BLACKFORD’S TROUBLE
Bitter at heart was Joe Strong as he walked slowly into his room and shut the door. This was a common form of punishment with the deacon, since he had given up his frequent whippings of Joe.
Just what effect the old man thought it had on the youth to send him to his room it is hard to tell. But Joe had often been sent there to sit in loneliness, often without a meal, or at best with bread and water. At times the deacon declared bread and water was all Joe could have, but Mrs. Blackford had a kinder heart, and she would butter the slices she brought up to Joe.