Azalea: The Story of a Little Girl in the Blue Ridge MountainsPeattie, Elia Wilkinson
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Azalea: The Story of a Little Girl in the Blue Ridge Mountains
Peattie, Elia Wilkinson
Blue Ridge Mountains -- Juvenile fiction; Girls -- Juvenile fiction; North Carolina -- Juvenile fiction
Azalea had been learning lessons of self-control since she had been with
Mary McBirney, but now her old-time temper flamed up in her. She felt
the familiar wave of fire sweeping across her brain and she screamed out
angry things at Sisson.
“I’m no show girl!” she protested. “I never wanted to be a show girl. I
think you are wicked, wicked, Hank Sisson! You’ve taken me away from the
best people I ever knew and they’ll be so frightened! Oh, please, Mrs.
Bowen, make him let me go. Oh, Hank Sisson I hate you! I hate you! Oh,
why isn’t my mamma alive? You wouldn’t dare treat me like this if she
was alive. You bad, bad man!”
“You can see for yourself, what a fine performer she is,” Sisson sneered.
“High tragedy, that’s her line.”
“Oh, Mrs. Bowen,” wailed the girl, “mamma was good to you. Won’t you
help me?”
“Turning on the tear taps now,” grinned Sisson.
“Oh, shut up,” snapped the new woman. “What did you expect the girl to
do? Didn’t think she’d rejoice, did you? Leave her be, you Sisson.
You’ve got her, that’s the main thing; now give her a chance to cool down
a little. I’m sorry for the young un, that’s what I am—taking her away
from a good home to tag along with a lot like us!”
Sisson raised his heavy fist and made as if to strike the woman.
“You take your choice,” he growled. “Shut up or be shut up.”
“While we’re rowing around here, Hank,” broke in Betty Bowen, “the folks
will be after us. Do we carry out our plan, or don’t we?”
“We carry it out and we do it quick,” announced Sisson. Nor was Azalea
long in finding out what the plan was. Taking it for granted that as
soon as Azalea was missed, the Sisson All Star Combination would be under
suspicion, it was the intention of Sisson and his troupe to go on up into
the mountains; but Betty Bowen and her son Rafe were to take the best
team of horses, and the wagon with its load of conveniences, hide by
night in the woods, and then make their way before dawn into South
Carolina. The state line was not more than twelve miles from where they
then were, and once across that, they were comparatively safe.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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