In spite of God and wasps and her father, she had stolen plums; and once because of discovered misdeeds, and once because she had realized that her mother was dead, she had lain on her face in the unmown grass, beneath the elmtrees that came beyond the vegetables, and poured out her soul in weeping. "I should think so," responded the lethargic turnkey, with a yawn. He was well mounted, as was his companion; and had pistols in his holsters, and a hanger at his girdle. “You know,” he muttered, “you know quite well that your troubles are far more likely to weigh upon me than my own. Anna——” Again she stopped him, but this time it was not so easy. She read the policeman’s rueful glance when she caught his refection in his rearview mirror. He felt the first sting of the whip.
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