“I can wash dishes; I often do for mother. I wash, and sister wipes; and I can sweep up, too. Besides I can amuse the children and keep them out of the way.” This last was said with great seriousness, as if he had long since left childhood behind him.
Mrs. Bentley looked at the stout little figure, at the round, good-humored freckled face, the brown hair plastered back by two wet hands, at the neatly patched clothes, and faded, well worn, though clean, shirt waist, and her face took on an expression of relief.
“That will be a great help,” she said. “I shall be glad enough to have you stay. My husband told me that you did not belong to the gang of pickers that he brought down, but he didn’t know he was employing a helper for me when he took you. Your name is Ben, isn’t it? Well, Ben, you sha’n’t lose by it.” And for the rest of the day Benny found himself Mrs. Bentley’s right-hand man. He smiled once or twice at his odd position, and wondered what the boys would say—the boys who were now, probably, playing “knuckle down” in the street. How they would make fun of him and call him “Miss Betty.” Well, it didn’t matter; they were probably quarreling over their marbles, while he was feeding chickens and washing dishes.
Mrs. Bentley watched him narrowly, especially when during a moment’s respite from kitchen work he played horse for the children.
But the black-browed Polish boy, Ivan, coming up to the pump for water, scowled as he saw the little fellow so at home with the children. “Sneakee!” he growled at Benny.
The boy’s face flushed. “I’m not a sneak,” he replied. “I don’t know what you mean by saying that.”
“You very fine, very good,” Ivan replied. “I pay. You see.”
“What does make him hate me so?” thought Benny. “I’m not hurting him. I believe he’s jealous.” And at the thought he smiled. Ivan looking over his shoulder saw the smile and shook his fist as he vanished down the path.
Little Alice put up a scared face, and clung to Benny, who took her in his arms and comforted her, and soon all fear of Ivan had left the little group.
Ivan, however, did not forget, for when Benny, whistling cheerily, went to the dairy at Mrs. Bentley’s bidding, Ivan, who was on the watch for some such proceeding, saw the boy go down the hill, and a gleam of satisfaction came over his face, as, leaving his work, he followed. Benny was bearing a crock of milk up to the house when suddenly something whizzed through the air and struck sharply against the crock, breaking it, spilling its contents all over the ground, and flooding the boy’s feet with a milky torrent.