And she did. Starting with her observation of Brian and Betty Jo, and
her conviction of their love, she told of her interview with Brian the
night she warned him not to let Betty Jo return, and finished with the
account of her attack on Betty Jo that morning.

Auntie Sue listened with amazement and pity. Here, indeed, was a wayward
and troubled life-current.

"But, Judy, Judy!" exclaimed the gentle old teacher, "you would not
really have pushed Betty Jo into the river. She would have been drowned,
child. Surely, you did not mean to kill her, Judy."

The girl wrung her hands, and her deformed body swayed to and fro in the
nervous intensity of her emotions. But she answered, stubbornly: "That
there was just what I was aimin' ter do. I'd a-killed her, sure, if Mr.
Burns hadn't a-come just when he did. I can't rightly tell how hit was,
but hit seemed like there was somethin' inside of me what was a-makin'
me do hit, an' I couldn't, somehow, help myself. An'--an'--that ain't
all, ma'm; I done worse'n that," she continued in a low, moaning wail.
"Oh, my God-A'mighty! Why didn't Mr. Burns sling me inter the river an'
let me be smashed an' drowned at Elbow Rock while he had me, 'stead of
lettin' me git away ter do what I've gone an' done!"

Auntie Sue's wonderful native strength enabled her to speak calmly:
"What is it you have done, Judy? You must tell me, child."

The older woman's voice and manner steadied the girl, and she answered
more in her usual colorless monotone, but still guarded so as not to
awaken the other members of the household: "Hit seemed like Mr. Burns
ketchin' me, like he did, an' me a-seein' him with her in his arms, made