Tess of the Storm Country - Grace Miller White - Bog

At this the industrious one turned. "I spose ye be a hittin' at my poor Myry, Ben," he muttered. "I spose ye be, but God'll some time let me kill the man, and then ye won't be hittin' at her no more, 'cause there won't be nothin' to hit at. It air dum hard to keep a girl from the wrong way, love her all ye will." For an instant Ben Letts dropped his head. "We always wondered who he was, but more wonder has been goin' on why ye ain't made no offer to find the fellow.