Page:The Star in the Window.pdf/138

128 "As soon as I can get you properly trained into the care of your mother."

"Oh, but please," burst out Reba, a little hysterically, "couldn't you—couldn't you please put it off for a little while? Till I finish a few of the things I've begun here? Just out of kindness to me, I mean?"

"I've put it off already twenty-five years—out of kindness to you," replied Aunt Augusta. "You've been relieved from taking care of your own mother ever since you grew up. I guess you can afford to give up a little of your own pleasure now, out of kindness to us, who've been doing your work for you all this time."

"But I never went to boarding-school," Reba's voice trembled, "nor to college, nor never mixed with young people my own age, and—and I am getting it all here. I'm taking such interesting courses! But I've been here only three months, and one can't get much in three months. If you would—if you could put off going, I mean, till I had had a year, or perhaps two here, then I'd come home happily, and take care of Mother all the rest of my life."

"My mind is quite made up to go immediately, and I don't change my mind, as you know."

It was no use. Reba saw with sickening certainty that it was no use to plead. Aunt Augusta had made up her mind. Aunt Augusta, the invincible, the unconquerable, had found a way to defeat Reba—to crush her. No use to cry for mercy. Oh, no use to beg for grace. A wave of self-pity swept over Reba. She wanted to be alone. She wanted to get away from this hard cruel woman who was so eager to thwart her happy adventure. Cousin Syringa lived meagerly in a neglected, illy-equipped farm-house on the