before yesterday. And you're going to have a couple of years of peace and progress in an Ursuline academy called The Pines."
"Where's that?" I demanded, getting ready to back right out of the harness.
"That's about fifty miles across the border, up in Canada. And you're going to learn a lot up there that I'd never be able to teach you. And after a while you're going to like it."
I sat looking at him.
"I'd hate it," I finally announced.
Bud only shook his head.
"You're going to have a little white room with ivy all around the window. You're going to have a clean white bed and clean people to live with. You're going to hear birds sing, and bells ring—and a different line of talk than big-mitter's slang. You're going to study music and sewing and deportment and have morning and evening chapel, and big trees to sit under, and rows of flowers to walk between, and real women to talk over your troubles with. And after the first week or two, when you get over the wrench, you're going to wake up and find that the quiet lives aren't always the empty ones."
I still sat there staring at him. For a minute or
