Tillie, a Mennonite Maid; a Story of the Pennsylvania Dutch by Helen Reimensnyder Martin
page 23 of 319 (07%)
page 23 of 319 (07%)
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Left alone in her bed, her body quivering, her little soul hot
with shame and hatred, the child stifled her sobs in her pillow, her whole heart one bleeding wound. How could she ever tell Miss Margaret? Surely she would never like her any more!--never again lay her hand on her hair, or praise her compositions, or call her "honey," or, even, perhaps, allow her to help her on Fridays!--and what, then, would be the use of living? If only she could die and be dead like a cat or a bird and not go to hell, she would take the carving-knife and kill herself! But there was hell to be taken into consideration. And yet, could hell hold anything worse than the loss of Miss Margaret's kindness? HOW could she tell her of that burned-up book and endure to see her look at her with cold disapproval? Oh, to make such return for her kindness, when she so longed with all her soul to show her how much she loved her! For the first time in all her school-days, Tillie went next morning with reluctance to school. III "WHAT'S HURTIN' YOU, TILLIE?" She meant to make her confession as soon as she reached the |
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