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

"I don't believe I can go on for years, holding in, Waitstill!"
Patty whimpered.

"Yes, you can. I have!"

"You're different, Waitstill."

"I wasn't so different at sixteen, but that's five years ago, and
I've 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, I'm afraid, Patty, and that would
spoil all. I'm sorry you can't go up to Ellen's," she sighed,
turning back to her work; "you don't have pleasure enough for one
of your age; still, don't 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 it's all rough with the wind.