The short service was quickly over, and
the queer-looking band of mourners turned away. As they were leaving
the cemetery, a thick-set and ungainly man, with eyes closely set in
his head, and a hat slouched over his forehead, came up and spoke to
Granger.
"All right, Dent," said Granger.
Then he turned to his daughter.
"You know Isaac Dent, don't you, Bet? You might ha' the manners to
give him a civil word."
Bet's eyes were red and swollen, for she had been crying bitterly.
"Oh, yes, I know you, Isaac Dent," she said; "but I ain't in no mood
to talk now. Good-bye, father."
"I'll be home presently," called out Granger. "Have a bit of dinner
ready for Dent and me-we'll be looking in presently;" and Bet, taking
a small brother by each hand, walked away at a good pace.
She had not replied to her father, and there was a very dogged,
determined look on her handsome face. The two small boys chattered to
one another, looked proudly down at their boots, which had been bought
new for the occasion, and often glanced at Bet.
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