He struck his horse and gave me a rude shake and bade me shut up.
It was dark and I felt very cold and began to wish myself home in bed.
"Ain't we most to the Dunkelbergs' ?" I asked.
"No--not yet," he answered.
I burst into tears and he hit me a sounding whack in the face with his hand.
"No more whimperin'," he shouted.

"Do ye hear me ?" He hurt me cruelly and I was terribly frightened and covered my face and smothered my cries and was just a little quaking lump of misery.
He shook me roughly and shoved me down on the buggy floor and said: "You lay there and keep still; do you hear ?" "Yes," I sobbed.
I lay shaking with fear and fighting my sorrow and keeping as still as I could with it, until, wearied by the strain, I fell asleep.
What an angel of mercy is sleep! Down falls her curtain and away she leads us--delivered! free!--into some magic country where are the things we have lost--perhaps even joy and youth and strength and old friendships.
What befell me that night while I dreamed of playing with the sweet-faced girl I have wondered often.

Some time in the night Dug Draper had reached the village of Canton, and got rid of me.

He had probably put me out at the water trough.

Kind hands had picked me up and carried me to a little veranda that fronted the door of a law office.
There I slept peacefully until daylight, when I felt a hand on my face and awoke suddenly.