Good-by! I can't stay any longer to be tortured." And with that I
turned and walked away from them both, forever, I am afraid.
It isn't true, it can't be! But if it is? One thing I have made up my
mind to do: I am going to ask Father, if it is all true, to let me go
away from Byrdsville. I can't stay here; it will be too empty a life
for me to watch them living with me out of it. I hope he will go and
take Mother too. Judge Luttrell may prosecute him so he will have to.
Is this the end of the life that bloomed out in me like the apple
blossoms do on the bare trees, only to be shattered? No! I hope I will
bear fruit from having had so much happiness, like the apple-trees do
from their blooms, and I'm going to try.
* * * * *
Just here I laid down Louise and went to see what I could see going on
down at the cottage before dark. And there was old Uncle Pompey
hanging over our garden wall smoking his pipe and just crying into his
funny red bandanna handkerchief. Something tells me that he is going
to miss me very much also. I am thankful for the love of this old
negro, which I am sure is just the same quality as if he were white.
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