However, we were sitting close together and
my left arm felt the sting, and it aroused in me the spirit of
rebellion. I felt that I had outgrown such correction, nor had I
deserved it; and I told her that she should never, never strike me
again. Then I walked to the house alone.
A few moments later Georgia came up to our room, and found me dressing
myself with greatest care. In amazement she asked, "Eliza, where are
you going?" and was dumbfounded when I answered, "To find another home
for us."
In the lower hall I encountered grandma, whose anger had cooled, and
she asked the question Georgia had. I raised my sleeve, showed the welt
on my arm, and replied, "I am going to see if I can't find a home where
they will treat me kindly."
Poor grandma was conscience-stricken, drew me into her own room, and
did not let me leave it until after she had soothed my hurts and we had
become friends again.
Georgia went to Mrs. Bergwald's, and remained quite a while. When she
came back speaking English, and insisting that she was an American,
grandma became very angry, and threatened to send her away among
strangers; then hesitated, as if realizing how fully Georgia belonged
to me and I to her, and that we would cling together whatever might
happen. In her perplexity, she besought Mrs. Bergwald's advice.
Now, Mrs. Bergwald was a native of Stockholm, a lady of rare culture,
and used the French language in conversing with grandma.
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