Please give me some soap and
towels."
Instead Margaret pushed by him with a shriek. Billy had played
by producing a cord from his pocket, and having tied the tails of
Margaret's white kittens together, he had climbed on a box and hung them
across the clothes line. Wild with fright the kittens were clawing each
other to death, and the air was white with fur. The string had twisted
and the frightened creatures could not recognize friends. Margaret
stepped back with bleeding hands. Sinton cut the cord with his knife
and the poor little cats raced under the house bleeding and disfigured.
Margaret white with wrath faced Wesley.
"If you don't hitch up and take that animal back to town," she said, "I
will."
Billy threw himself on the grass and began to scream.
"You said I could have fried chicken for supper," he wailed. "You said
she was a nice lady!"
Wesley lifted him and something in his manner of handling the child
infuriated Margaret. His touch was so gentle. She reached for Billy and
gripped his shirt collar in the back. Wesley's hand closed over hers.
"Gently, girl!" he said. "This little body is covered with sores."
"Sores!" she ejaculated. "Sores? What kind of sores?"
"Oh, they might be from bruises made by fists or boot toes, or they
might be bad blood, from wrong eating, or they might be pure filth. Will
you hand me some towels?"
"No, I won't!" said Margaret.
"Well, give me some rags, then.
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