Manila thought. “She’s like a rat most,” she concluded finally. “She’s slim, and she goes around so’s you don’t hear her comin’. She has black eyes, and slick hair, and a sniffy nose.”
“Ugh!” breathed Phœbe. (After that the imaginary step-mother that lurked in the big Blair house whenever the light was dim, took on a ratlike personality—slenderness, stealthiness, small black eyes and sniffy nose.)
Phœbe visualized the lady under discussion. “The Hanging of the Rat-Woman,” she mused. “That would be a wonderful title.”
Manila thought so too.
“I wish I was a big cat,” she confided, “I’d wait behind somethin’, and when Mrs. Botts come by, I’d jump at her, and break her back.” Manila’s face was pale with the thrill of it, and with hate. Phœbe regarded her more respectfully than ever.
“I run away today,” went on Manila. “I don’t never ask Mrs. Botts what I can do, and Paw was downtown. Miss Ruth telephoned, and when she said you wanted to see me, over I come.”
“But when you get home—?” It was Phœbe’s time to go white.
Manila’s eyes narrowed. “If she licks me, I’ll tell the Judge on her,” she threatened. “And he’ll have her in Court, and shame her like he did once before. And a lickin’ don’t hurt long.”
Manila waited about that afternoon long past the time when, in the natural order of events, Phœbe thought her visitor should have gone. For suppertime approached, and yet Manila lingered.
“Are you afraid?” Phœbe wanted to know.