"There," she went on, "make the best of that. I'm not going to be
mealy-mouthed. I would let her die, and be glad of it. Why should I want
her alive? Do you think I've no human feelings? Do you think I'd ever
forgive her for dragging Tom into the mud? I've been on my knees half
the night praying she and her brat might both die and leave us in peace!
If there's any justice in heaven, a man like Deacon Webbe won't be
loaded down with the disgrace of a grandchild like that."
There was a sort of fascination in her growing wildness. Everybody knows
how she sneers at the meekness of her husband, and that she is
continually saying he hasn't any force, but here she was catching at his
goodness as a sort of bribe to Heaven to let her have the life of mother
and child. I could not answer her, but could only be thankful no houses
were near. Mrs. Bagley would hear, I supposed, but that could not be
helped.
"What do you know about how I feel?" she demanded, swooping down upon me
so that I involuntarily shrank back against the fence. "It is all very
pretty for you to have ideas of charity, and play at taking care of the
sick. I dare say you mean well enough, Miss Privet, but this isn't a
case for you. Go home, and let Providence take care of that girl.
God'll look after her!"