The lady pressed the handkerchief to her lips lightly and coughed. Then she went on:
"Children can bear almost anything. They have to. But when I grew up, I could not bear it any longer. I was eighteen that spring. They did many things to poor New England in the old days, and in our days. They drove out love and gaiety and the pride of life, but they could not drive out spring. Every year spring came to New England, and begged people to live and be happy. But people only stopped their ears, and hid in their houses, and prayed to a stiff God, when the real God had sent them spring. That spring I had it out with my father and my mother. And when I had told them about life and sunlight and gladness, they sighed and said I was no child of theirs, but a penance for their sins. And they believed it. And they prayed for me and for strength to bear their burden. When they had done praying, I went away."
"It broke their hearts," said the judge,
