“Found out! He found out from somebody over to Ostable where the deed was recorded, that is how he found out. He said so. But I don't care for that. And I don't care if you sold the Lane ten times over. You didn't do it for any mean or selfish reason, that I know. There ain't a selfish bone in your body, Roscoe. I've lived along with you all these years and I know. Nobody that was mean or selfish would give up their chances in life and stay here in this one-hoss town because his ma was sick and had took a notion that she couldn't bear to part with him. Don't you mind Jed Dean--pig-headed old thing!--or anybody else in Denboro. Hold up your head and show 'em you don't care for the whole caboodle of 'em. Let 'em talk and act like fools, if they want to. It comes natural to most of 'em, I cal'late, and they'll be sorry some day. Don't you let 'em drive you out. They won't come inside THIS house with their talk, not while I'm here, I tell you that!” Her eyes, behind the brass-rimmed spectacles, flashed fire. This was the longest speech I had ever heard her make. “There, Dorinda,” I said, smiling, “don't worry on my account. I'm not worth it. And, whatever I do, I shall see that you and Lute are provided for.” Instead of calming her this statement seemed to have the exactly opposite effect. “Stop it!” she snapped. “The idea! Do you suppose it's for myself I'm talkin' this way to you? I guess 'tain't! My soul! I'll look out for myself, and Lute, too, long's I'm able to walk; and when I can't walk 'twill be because I've stopped breathin'. It's for you I'm talkin', for you and Comfort. Think of her.” I sighed. “I have been thinking of her, Dorinda,” I declared. “She doesn't know a word about this.” “Then tell her.” “I can't tell her my reason for selling, any more than I can tell you--or Dean.” “Tell her what you can, then. Tell her as much of the truth as you can. She'll say you done right, of course. Whatever you do is right to her.” I made no reply. She regarded me keenly. “Roscoe,” she went on, “do you WANT to go somewheres else?” “I don't know, Dorinda. I might as well be here as anywhere, perhaps. I am rather blue and discouraged just now, that's all.” “I can't blame you much. But bein' discouraged don't do any good. Besides, it's always darkest just afore dawn, they say; anyhow, I've had that preached to me ever since I was a girl and I've tried to believe it through a good many cloudy spells. Roscoe, don't you let old Jed or anybody DRIVE you out of Denboro, but, if you WANT to go--if you think you'd ought to go, to earn money or anything, don't you worry about leavin' Comfort. I'll look out for her as well as if she was my own. Remember that.” I laid my hand on hers. “Thank you,” I said, earnestly. “Dorinda, you are a good woman.” To my surprise the eyes behind the spectacles became misty. Tears in Dorinda's eyes! When she spoke it was in, for her, a curiously hesitating tone.