forefingers—a sure sign with her of a perturbed state of soul; I've seen it before.
"What is it, Aunt Lize?" I asked in surprise.
"I've got ter speak, Hughie, even ef 't is yew." Her voice trembled.
"Go ahead. Aunt Lize; don't mind me."
"I can't help it, Hughie—Oh, I can't help it even ef ye be er cripple—"
"What in thunder, Aunt Lize—" I believe if I could have reached her mouth I should have stopped it. She has never called me that before—and just to-day!
By the light of the fire I saw her lips twitch, then tighten, before she went on;—no tremble in her voice this time:
"Yes, er cripple; 'n' I ain't goin' agin the mercies er my God any longer jest 'coz ye be one. It 's goin' on nigh outer three year sence ye wuz laid here, 'n' all this time I ben sayin' my prayers under my breath, 'n' thinkin' ter deal with the Lord kinder left-handed; 'n' Shim hain't said grace onct, 'coz we could allus hear ye cursin' 'n' blasphemin', mutterin' 'n' swearin' ter yerself agin the God thet made ye."
I think I must have felt for the handle bars to raise the cot, for Aunt Lize drew back, and put out her hand as if to ward off something; but she went on steadily:
"I ain't sayin' He put ye thar—mind thet, Hughie; 't warn't God, 't wuz the log; 'n' anybody thet's got common sense ain't goin' ter lay nat'ral things outer Him; but He made ye, body 'n' soul, 'n' I ain't goin' ter deny Him in His merciful kindness any longer
