Some of the children at school pester her about her father.

I don't know's you can blame 'em; young ones are made that way, I guess--but she comes home to me cryin', and it's 'O Uncle Cy, he AIN'T my truly father, is he ?' and 'You won't let him take me away from you, will you ?' till it seems as if I should fly out of the window.

The poor little thing! And that puffed-up humbug Atkins blowin' about his Christianity and all! D--n such Christianity as that, I say! I've seen heathen Injuns, who never heard of Christ, with more of His spirit inside 'em.

There! I've shocked you, I guess.
Sometimes I think this place is too narrer and cramped for me.

I've been around, you know, and my New England bringin' up has wore thin in spots.
Seem's if I must get somewheres and spread out, or I'll bust." He threw himself into a chair.