When I got back to the Ark, I found Rebecca waiting for me. She followed
me up to my room, and I closed the door.
"You see I waited long enough for you to come of your own accord," I
said, laughing. Then I drew a chair in front of her. She sat at the foot
of the bed, and I addressed her gravely:--
"Now, Becky, something is the matter. You are not the merry,
light-hearted girl you were when I first knew you. And I can help you,
perhaps. I will help you. Tell me what the trouble is!"
I thought I should see the tears gathering in Rebecca's eyes, but she
looked, instead, so stonily disconsolate, that I was rather dismayed.
"I'm going to tell you," said she; "but you can't help me. They'll all
know before long, I guess. I don't care. You talk good, but you don't say
much about God. I guess you don't believe there is none. I don't, I can't
understand. I'm like I'd got lost, somehow, and when they found me,
they'd stone me--I don't care. I've felt enough. I don't feel no more.
I've cried so much, I guess I can't cry no more. If I could it 'ud be
now, tellin' you.
"When Miss Waite came here to teach, I hadn't ever had no friend except
the girls here, and they wasn't bad, but we was always runnin' wild
around in the lots, and down to shore, and always laughin' and plaguin'
the teacher in school.
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