The sun stole through the cracks
of the barn in wide shining streaks, with little motes of dust dancing
up and down in the golden light, but John Jay did not see them. A shadow
darkened the doorway. He did not see that, for his face was still
hidden. There was a step on the barn floor, and a rustling in the hay
beside him; then George's hand rested lightly on his head, and his voice
said, soothingly, "There, there! I wouldn't cry about it."
"Oh, I nevah thought about things that way befo'!" sobbed John Jay.
"I'll nevah sneak out of the work again. I'll tote the wood and watah
'thout waitin' to be asked, an' I'll nevah lick out my tongue at her
behine her back as long as I live!"
George bit his lips to keep from laughing, although he was touched by
the little penitent's distress.
"Do you know why I said such hard things to you?" he asked. "It was to
open your eyes. I want to make a man of you, John Jay. Let me tell you
some things about your grandmother that you have never heard. Her whole
life has been a struggle, and such a very sad one.
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