“I know. Food has become sacred; it means life,� said Mrs. Wilson. “It is dreadful that some of our own people are so slow to realize the situation and their duty. Miranda Osborne and I carried the government pamphlets to the Andrewses and Joneses and Walthalls and talked to them, but they listened as if their minds were shut and locked. They think, as Gordan Jones said, those who raise wheat and corn and hogs have a right to use all the flour and meal and meat they please.�
“A right! Who with a heart and conscience wants the right to use victuals extravagant when other folks are starving? Well, I must go and take this wool to the women that said they would knit.�
“I’ll go with you,� said Sweet William, scrambling to his feet. “I’d rather go visiting with you than to stay here and play party by myself.�
Mrs. Mallett gladly accepted his company, and, with Scalawag at his heels, he trotted along with her, to collect knitted garments and dispense wool.
Suddenly Scalawag, usually a well-mannered dog that did not interfere with people on the public road, ran at a negro boy, barking furiously. The boy jerked up a stone, and Scalawag came back to Sweet William’s heels, whimpering and growling. As soon as they were at a safe distance, he again barked angrily.
“I never saw him do that way before,� said Sweet William; “never, but that night in the garden.�
“Who was he barking at then?� asked Mrs. Mallett.
“I don’t know,� said Scalawag’s master; and then he told about his trip to Broad Acres the night before the gardens were destroyed and about the dog’s queer behavior.
“H’m!� Mrs. Mallett said thoughtfully. “Who was that boy we passed?�
“Kit, Lincum Gabe’s boy,� said Sweet William. “Scalawag’s met him a hundred times, I reckon, and never noticed him before.�