David had
told him all about it, and for the first time in his life he had felt
afraid of this dearly loved brother of his. It had been a revelation to
Pasty. Surely, this bitter, unforgiving, revengeful man could not be the
same who had been father, mother and big brother to the little cripple
for whom he had cared so tenderly since their mother had been taken from
them.
It had sounded like a fairy tale to Patsy; he could scarcely believe his
own ears. Just to think of it; that brown house on the hill had once
been their mother's home, and the man who lived there, the man whom
David hated with undying hatred, was their mother's brother and their
uncle. On the day she married, she had left her home forever, her
brother vowing that never as long as he lived would he set eyes upon her
face again; to him she would be as though dead. Once, when father lay
dying (Patsy could not remember it, but David had told him of it),
mother had written to their uncle imploring a little help in their
misery. It was not for herself she had asked but for the dying husband
and sickly baby. Her letter had been returned to her with these harsh
words written on the back: "Some mistake here. No woman has the right to
call me brother. My only sister died years ago." David had kept the
letter ever since; he had been old enough at the time to understand.
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