"
His sister looked at him, and there was in her face something of the
expression of the women that day as they packed the barrel. But she
said nothing until he was leaving the house that night. Then she put
a hand on his arm. She was a weary little woman, older than Harvey,
and tired with many children. She had been gathering up small overshoes
in the hall and he had stopped to help her.
"You know, Harvey, Sara Lee's not--I always think she's different,
somehow."
"Well, I guess yes! There's nobody like her."
"You can't bully her, you know."
Harvey stared at her with honestly perplexed eyes.
"Bully!" he said. "What on earth makes you say that?"
Then he laughed.
"Don't you worry, Belle," he said. "I know I'm a fierce and domineering
person, but if there's any bullying I know who'll do it."
"She's not like the other girls you know," she reiterated rather
helplessly.
"Sure she's not! But she's enough like them to need a house to live in.
And if she isn't crazy about the Leete place I'll eat it."
He banged out cheerfully, whistling as he went down the street. He
stopped whistling, however, at Sara Lee's door. The neighborhood
preserved certain traditions as to a house of mourning.
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