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Lincoln, Joseph Crosby, 1870-1944

"Thankful's Inheritance"

Suppose you and I go in
partners on it, Thankful."
Thankful shook her head.
"You're awfully good," she said.
"No, I ain't."
"Yes, you are. But I couldn't do it, Obed."
"Why not?"
"You know why not. For the same reason I couldn't say yes to what you
asked me a while ago. I can't let you help me out of pity."
"Pity!" He turned and stared at her. "Pity!" he repeated.
"Yes, pity. I know you're sorry for me. You said you were. And I know
you'd do anything to help me, even--even--"
He interrupted.
"Thankful Barnes," he said, "did you think I asked you what I asked that
time out of PITY?"
"Now, Obed--"
"Stop! Answer me. Did you think such a fool thing as THAT? You stay
right where you are! I want you to look me in the face."
"Don't, Obed! Don't! Let me be. Don't!"
He paid not the slightest attention. He was bending over her, his hand
beneath her chin, forcing her to look at him.
"Don't, Obed!" she begged.
"Thankful, you tell me. Did you think I asked you to marry me just
because I pitied you. Just because I was sorry for you? Did you?"
"Obed, please!"
"Thankful, I've come to care for you more'n anything else in the world.
I don't pity you. I've been pityin' myself for the last month because I
couldn't have you--just you. I want you, Thankful Barnes, and if you'll
marry me I'll be the happiest critter that walks."
"Oh, Obed, don't make it so hard for me. You said you wouldn't. And--and
you can't care--really.


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