"I do not care what Millerstown thinks," declared the squire as he rose to go. "It is what I think. In the name of sense what has come over the girl?"
In her room Katy threw herself once more upon that oft-used refuge, her bed.
"If I could forget him," she moaned. "If I only could forget him. It is not right to think of him. I cannot be learned, but I can be good. It is wrong to think all the time of him." She remembered various women in the village who loved inconstant, unfaithful men. "I am a Mary Wolle! I am Sally Hersh! I am a shame to myself!"
Three times before September the squire reasoned with her. Even the doctor ventured to remonstrate.
"No Gaumer has ever done such a thing before, Katy."
"Well, you," said Katy with spirit, "are not a Gaumer, so you do not need to care."
At her Bevy stormed.
"You surely have one rafter too few or too many, Katy. There is something wrong with your little house! Are you crazy, Katy?"
"Yes," answered Katy, thus nearly paralyzing Bevy Schnepp. "I am."
In September Katy took up her abode at the Hartmans'. Millerstown saw her go with wonder. She carried a little satchel and walked with her chin in the air. Millerstown gazed out doors and windows to see whether the thing it had heard could be true.