But her tears were not of penitence, far from it, and it was well that Mrs. Hagood had not demanded of her any expression of sorrow for her offense, or of submission for the future; for in Posey’s present mood she would have been beaten to death before she would either have confessed or yielded. As it was she sobbed as softly as she could, and kept her face well in the pillow that Mrs. Hagood might not have the pleasure of knowing that she was crying, and under her breath she repeated over and over, as though it gave her some relief, “I hate you, oh, I do hate you, you bad, cruel woman!” CHAPTER VII A DESPERATE RESOLVE Very soon Posey heard dishes clattering sharply on the table, for in Mrs. Hagood’s state of mind she handled even the plates and cups as though they had been guilty of offense, and presently the little brass bell rang out with an energy that warned Mr. Hagood it would not be wise to linger in obeying its summons. A moment later and his steps sounded on the porch, he was wiping his hands on the towel that hung by the door, they were sitting down at the table, and then came his question, “Where’s Posey to-night?” There was but a thin door between her room and the kitchen, and Posey had no need to strain her ears to hear Mrs. Hagood as with loud and forceful emphasis she poured forth the story of Posey’s misdoings, to which the kindly old man who had taken the friendless child to a tender place in his heart, listened sorrowfully. As Mrs. Hagood ended she also heard his mild tone, “Why, now, Almiry, I wouldn’t be too hard on Posey; if she is quick-tempered she’s soon over it, an’ she’s always ready an’ willin’. As for her bein’ disappointed about not goin’ to school, she oughtn’t to have did what she did, but I s’posed you did mean to send her part of the time; it don’t seem quite right not to, now really, Almiry, an’ there’s the law, you know.” It was a good deal of a protest for Mr. Hagood to make on any subject—more than he would have uttered for himself, as Posey well knew; but the grim silence in which his wife had listened was only the hush before the storm which he had drawn on his own head. “Oh, yes, Elnathan Hagood,” with a biting sarcasm of tone, “that’s right and just what I might have expected of you; take up against your own wife and for a vile, impudent, little street-beggar. You needn’t think you two have been so hand in glove all summer without my seeing it, and this is the upshot, and you uphold her in it.” “Oh, Almiry!”