She was swift to appreciate the change in Johnnie.
"You look a heap prettier, and act and speak a heap prettier than you
used to up in the mountains," she told the tall girl. "Looks like it was
a mighty sensible thing for you to come down here to the Settlement; and
if it was good for you, I don't see why it wasn't good for me--and won't
be for the rest of the children. No need for you to be so solemn
over it."
The entire household was aghast at the bride's attitude toward her old
husband. They watched her with the fascinated gaze we give to a petted
child encroaching upon the rights of a cross dog, or the pretty lady
with her little riding whip in the cage of the lion. She treated him
with a kindly, tolerant, yet overbearing familiarity that appalled. She
knew not to be frightened when he clicked his teeth, but drew up her
pretty brows and fretted at him that she wished he wouldn't make that
noise--it worried her. She tipped the sacred yellow cat out of the
rocking-chair where it always slept in state, took the chair herself,
and sent that astonished feline from the room.
It was in Laurella's evident influence that Johnnie put her trust when,
one evening, they all sat in Sunday leisure in the front room--most of
the girls being gone to church or out strolling with "company"--Pap
Himes broached the question of the children going to work in the mill.
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