Kate Wiggin - The Story of Waitstill Baxter стр 7.

I spose so, or t wouldnt be a frolic, said Patty with awful daring; but there wont be many; only a few of Marks friends.

Well, there aint goin to be no more argyfyin! I wont have any girl o mine frolickin with boys, so thats the end of it. Youre kind o crazy lately, riggin yourself out with a ribbon here and a flower there, and pullin your hair down over your ears. Why do you want to cover your ears up? What are they for?

To hear you with, father, Patty replied, with honey-sweet voice and eyes that blazed.

Well, I hope theyll never hear anything worse, replied her father, flinging a bucket of water over the last of the wagon wheels.

THEY COULDNT! These words were never spoken aloud, but oh! how Patty longed to shout them with a clarion voice as she walked away in perfect silence, her majestic gait showing, she hoped, how she resented the outcome of the interview.

Ive stood up to father! she exclaimed triumphantly as she entered the kitchen and set down her yellow bowl of eggs on the table. I stood up to him, and answered him back three times!

Waitstill was busy with her Saturday morning cooking, but she turned in alarm.

Patty, what have you said and done? Tell me quickly!

I argyfied, but it didnt do any good; he wont let me go to Ellens party.

Waitstill wiped her floury hands and put them on her sisters shoulders.

Hear what I say, Patty: you must not argue with father, whatever he says. We dont love him and so there isnt the right respect in our hearts, but at least there can be respect in our manners.

I dont believe I can go on for years, holding in, Waitstill! Patty whimpered.

Yes, you can. I have!

Youre different, Waitstill.

I wasnt so different at sixteen, but thats five years ago, and Ive got control of my tongue and my temper since then. Sometime, perhaps, when I have a grievance too great to be rightly borne, sometime when you are away from here in a home of your own, I shall speak out to father; just empty my heart of all the disappointment and bitterness and rebellion. Somebody ought to tell him the truth, and perhaps it will be me!

I wish it could be me, exclaimed Patty vindictively, and with an equal disregard of grammar.

You would speak in temper, Im afraid, Patty, and that would spoil all. Im sorry you cant go up to Ellens, she sighed, turning back to her work; you dont have pleasure enough for one of your age; still, dont fret; something may happen to change things, and anyhow the weather is growing warmer, and you and I have so many more outings in summer-time. Smooth down your hair, child; there are straws in it, and its all rough with the wind. I dont like flying hair about a kitchen.

I wish my hair was flying somewhere a thousand miles from here; or at least I should wish it if it did not mean leaving you; for oh. Im so miserable and disappointed and unhappy!

Waitstill bent over the girl as she flung herself down beside the table and smoothed her shoulder gently.

There, there, dear; it isnt like my gay little sister to cry. What is the matter with you to-day, Patty?

I suppose its the spring, she said, wiping her eyes with her apron and smiling through her tears. Perhaps I need a dose of sulphur and molasses.

Dont you feel well as common?

Well? I feel too well! I feel as if I was a young colt shut up in an attic. I want to kick up my heels, batter the door down, and get out into the pasture. Its no use talking, Waity;I cant go on living without a bit of pleasure and I cant go on being patient even for your sake. If it werent for you, Id run away as Job did; and I never believed Moses slipped on the logs; Im sure he threw himself into the river, and so should I if I had the courage!

Stop, Patty, stop, dear! You shall have your bit of pasture, at least. Ill do some of your indoor tasks for you, and you shall put on your sunbonnet and go out and dig the dandelion greens for dinner. Take the broken knife and a milkpan and dont bring in so much earth with them as you did last time. Dry your eyes and look at the green things growing. Remember how young you are and how many years are ahead of you! Go along, dear!

Waitstill went about her work with rather a heavy heart. Was life going to be more rather than less difficult, now that Patty was growing up? Would she he able to do her duty both by father and sister and keep peace in the household, as she had vowed, in her secret heart, always to do? She paused every now and then to look out of the window and wave an encouraging hand to Patty. The girls bonnet was off, and her uncovered head blazed like red gold in the sunlight. The short young grass was dotted with dandelion blooms, some of them already grown to huge disks of yellow, and Patty moved hither and thither, selecting the younger weeds, deftly putting the broken knife under their roots and popping them into the tin pan. Presently, for Deacon Baxter had finished the wagon and gone down the hill to relieve Cephas Cole at the counter, Pattys shrill young whistle floated into the kitchen, but with a mischievous glance at the open window she broke off suddenly and began to sing the words of the hymn with rather more emphasis and gusto than strict piety warranted.

Pattys young existence being full to the brim of labor, this view of heaven never in the least appealed to her and she rendered the hymn with little sympathy. The main part of the verse was strongly accented by jabs at the unoffending dandelion roots, but when the chorus came she brought out the emphatic syllables by a beat of the broken knife on the milkpan.

This rendition of a Sabbath-School classic did not meet Waitstills ideas of perfect propriety, but she smiled and let it pass, planning some sort of recreation for a stolen half-hour of the afternoon. It would have to be a walk through the pasture into the woods to see what had grown since they went there a fortnight ago. Patty loved people better than Nature, but failing the one she could put up with the other, for she had a sense of beauty and a pagan love of color. There would be pale-hued innocence and blue and white violets in the moist places, thought Waitstill, and they would have them in a china cup on the supper-table. No, that would never do, for last time father had knocked them over when he was reaching for the bread, and in a silent protest against such foolishness got up from the table and emptied theirs into the kitchen sink.

Theres a place for everything, he said when he came back, and the place for flowers is outdoors.

Then in the pine woods there would be, she was sure, Star of Bethlehem, Solomons Seal, the white spray of groundnuts and bunchberries. Perhaps they could make a bouquet and Patty would take it across the fields to Mrs. Boyntons door. She need not go in, and thus they would not be disobeying their fathers command not to visit that crazy Boynton woman.

Here Patty came in with a pan full of greens and the sisters sat down in the sunny window to get them ready for the pot.