Alice Wilde: The Raftsman's Daughter — page 67: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

HONEST INDIGNATION. 63 of his goods in a clear, low tone as sweet as it was passionless., ter hand did not tremble as she turned over silks and laces. “Good for her! She’s got her father’s grit,” thought the raftsman to himself, while his own throat swelled almost to choking with anger and grief, and he felt that if he only had Philip Moore within sight he would have the satisfaction of of thrashing a little conscience into him. 3 Neither he nor Alice any longer doubted the statements of Ben Perkins. Mr. Moore had ridiculed them—had mockingly given another permission to console her whom he had forsaken —had said that he was going East to marry a more fit com- panion. As the raftsman looked in the quiet face of his child which repelled sympathy with a woman’s pride—that pride so terrible because it covers such tortured sensibilities—his blood boiled up with ungovernable rage. He was not accustomed to concealing his sentiments upon any subject. ‘Let them finnified fixin’s alone, Alice,” he said, taking her hand and drawing her away. “Men that make it a business to handle that sort of thing, grow about as flimsy as their wares. I despise ’em. I want you to understand, Mr. Ray- mond, that all connection between me and this firm, business _ or other, is dissolved. I won’t even take your cussed money. When Mr. Moore returns, tell him that the laws of hospitality practised by your four-story-bricks ain’t known in squatters’ cabins, and if he ever comes on my premises again [ll consider myself at liberty to shoot him down for a dog;” and before the sarprised merchant could reply he had strode forth. “Come ‘long, Saturn! don’ stan’ dar’ starin’; don’t yer see masser’s gone? I shall be sorry I brought yer long ef yer | don’t behabe wid more propisciousness. What der s'pose folks ‘ll tink your missus and masser is, ef you don’t act like a fust-family nigger? Ef yer don’t do credit to Miss Alice, I'll nebber bring you ’way from home agin;” and Pallas took “her nigger” by the elbow and drew him away from the fascinatine array of dry-goods and ready-made clothing. That afternoon Captain Wilde and his daughter sat in a little private sitting-room of the hotel, overlooking the street. Every thing was novel to Alice. This was absolutely her first experience away from her forest home. Yet upon all the ousy, bustling scene beneath her she gazed with vacant eyes. CO) Comicdsooks