"
"What do you mean?" said Mrs. Edwards, as she took Jonathan by the
shoulder.
"They're going to whip father, and uncle, and all the others," he
repeated, beginning to whimper, stout boy as he was.
"Whip father? You're crazy, Jonathan, you didn't hear right. They'd
never dare! It can't be! Run and find out," cried Desire, wildly.
"There ain't any use. I heard the Hamlin fellow say so himself.
They're going to do it. They said it's no worse than whipping one of
them, as if they were gentlemen," blubbered Jonathan.
"Oh no! no! They can't, they won't," cried the girl in an anguished
voice, her eyes glazed with tears as she looked appealingly from
Jonathan to her mother, in whose faces there was little enough to
reassure her.
"Don't, mother, you hurt," said Jonathan, trying to twist away from
the clasp which his mother had retained upon his arm, unconsciously
tightening it till it was like a vise.
"Whip my husband!" said she, slowly, in a hollow tone. "Whip him!" she
repeated. "Such a thing was never heard of. There must be some
mistake."
"There must be. There must be," exclaimed Desire again. "It can never
be. They are not so wicked. That Hamlin fellow is bad enough, but oh
he isn't bad enough for that.
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