You only infer that they stole her."
Aunt Corinne told her nephew in a slightly guarded whisper, that she
never had seen such a mean man as that one was.
"They ought to prove it before they get her, then," said Grandma
Padgett.
"Yes," he assented. "They ought to prove it."
"And they must be right here in the place," she continued. "I'm
afraid I'll have trouble with them."
"We could go on to-night," exclaimed Robert Day. "We could go on to
Indianapolis, and that's where the governor lives, Zene says; and
when we told the governor, he'd put the pig-headed folks in jail."
Small notice being taken of this suggestion by the elders, Robert and
Corinne bobbed their heads in unison and discussed it in whispers
together.
The woman of the house locked up that part which let out upon the
log steps, before she conducted her guests to supper. She was a
partisan of Grandma Padgett's.
At table the brown-eyed child whom Grandma Padgett still held upon
her lap, refused food and continued to demand her mother. She leaned
against the old lady's shoulder seeing every crack in the walls,
every dish upon the cloth, the lawyer who sat opposite, and the
concerned faces of Bobaday and Corinne.
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