"yes' yo'
wait awhile."
"I can't wait, and I won't!" Polly shrieked, almost beside
herself with anxiety. "I got to get to the next burg--Wakefield,
ain't it? What time is it? Let me alone! Let me go!" she cried,
struggling desperately.
The door opened softly and the young pastor stood looking down at
the picture of the frail, white-faced child, and her black,
determined captor.
"Here, here! What's all this about?" he asked, in a firm tone,
though evidently amused.
"Who are you?" returned the girl, as she shoved herself quickly
back against the pillows and drew the covers close under her
chin, looking at him oddly over their top.
"She done been cuttin' up somefin' awful," Mandy explained, as
she tried to regain enough breath for a new encounter.
"Cutting up? You surprise me, Miss Polly," he said, with mock
seriousness.
"How do you know I'm Polly?" the little rebel asked, her eyes
gleaming large and desperate above the friendly covers.
"If you will be VERY good and keep very quiet, I will try to tell
you," he said, as he crossed to the bed.
"I won't be quiet, not for nobody," Polly objected, with a bold
disregard of double negatives. "I got to get a move. If you
ain't goin' to help me, you needn't butt in."
"I am afraid I can't help you to go just yet," Douglas replied.
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