"I do, though. There, I forgive you. Now what's your crime?"

"I can't go. Forgive me!"

"Can't go?"

"I can't. Forgive me!"

"I'm blessed if I don't believe that vagabond has been here tormenting
of you again."

"Oh, don't miscall him. He is penitent. Yes, Dick, he has been here
crying to me--and I can't leave him. I can't--I can't. Dear Dick! you
are young and stout-hearted; take all the things over, and make your
fortune out there, and leave your poor foolish sister behind. I should
only fling myself into the salt sea if I left him now, and that would be
peace to me, but a grief to thee."

"Lordsake, Phoebe, don't talk so. I can't go without you. And do but
think, why, the horses are on board by now, and all the gear. It's my
belief a good hiding is all you want, to bring you to your senses; but
I han't the heart to give you one, worse luck. Blessed if I know what to
say or do."

"I won't go!" cried Phoebe, turning violent all of a sudden. "No, not if
I am dragged to the ship by the hair of my head. Forgive me!" And with
that word she was a mouse again.

"Eh, but women are kittle cattle to drive," said poor Dick ruefully. And
down he sat at a nonplus, and very unhappy.