“You hold your tongue, you,--readin' the law to your elders an' betters,” said the old man, choking with wrath. “My business is with this wuthless sister o' yourn, not with you!--You've got your coat and hood on, miss, so you jest clear out o' the house; an' if you're too slow about it, I'll help you along. I've no kind of an idea you're rightly married, for that young Wilson sneak couldn't pay so high for you as all that; but if it amuses you to call him your husband, go an' find him an' stay with him. This is an honest house, an' no place for such as you!” Patty had a good share of the Baxter temper, not under such control as Waitstill's, and the blood mounted into her face. “You shall not speak to me so!” she said intrepidly, while keeping a discreet eye on the whip. “I'm not a--a--caterpillar to be stepped on, I'm a married woman, as right as a New Hampshire justice can make me, with a wedding-ring and a certificate to show, if need be. And you shall not call my husband names! Time will tell what he is going to be, and that's a son-in-law any true father would be proud to own!” “Why are you set against this match, father?” argued Waitstill, striving to make him hear reason. “Patty has married into one of the best families in the village. Mark is gay and thought-less, but never has he been seen the worse for liquor, and never has he done a thing for which a wife need hang her head. It is something for a young fellow of four-and-twenty to be able to provide for a wife and keep her in comfort; and when all is said and done, it is a true love-match.” Patty seized this inopportune moment to forget her father's presence, and the tragic nature of the occasion, and, in her usual impetuous fashion, flung her arms around Waitstill's neck and gave her the hug of a young bear. “My own dear sister,” she said. “I don't mind anything, so long as you stand up for us.” “Don't make her go to-night, father,” pleaded Waitstill. “Don't send your own child out into the cold. Remember her husband is away from home.” “She can find another up at the Mills as good as he is, or better. Off with you, I say, you trumpery little baggage, you!” “Go, then, dear, it is better so; Uncle Bart will keep you overnight; run up and get your things”; and Waitstill sank into a chair, realizing the hopelessness of the situation. “She'll not take anything from my house. It's her husband's business to find her in clothes.” “They'll be better ones than ever you found me,” was Patty's response. No heroics for her; no fainting fits at being disowned; no hysterics at being turned out of house and home; no prayers for mercy, but a quick retort for every gibe from her father; and her defiant attitude enraged the Deacon the more. “I won't speak again,” he said, in a tone that could not be mistaken. “Into the street you go, with the clothes you stand up in, or I'll do what I said I'd do.”