It looked like everybody had gone back on her. Her friends—which was me and Marthy, her playmates—which was me and Marthy, her lovers—which was me and Marthy, the providers of her joy—which was me and Marthy, had turned into avengers. She was all alone in a world of clubs. Just one wee kid and everybody against her.
She lay there a minute palpitatin', with her chin tremblin' piteous. What was to be did when her parents vanished, and these strange, harsh people took their places?
She crep' to the foot of the crib, where I was still standin', and she got up and took hold of my arm and hugged it.
“Pa-pa!” she says, loving.
I pushed her back on the pillow again, gentle but firm.
“Edith,” I says in the hard voice she wasn't acquainted with; “Lie down and go to sleep. I don't want to have no more of this. Go to sleep!” I heard the dinner bell tinkle from the dinin'-room, and I helped Marthy to git up, and we went out, and left Deedee alone in the dark.
I ate the first part of my dinner without sayin' anything. It wasn't exactly easy to be lively under them circumstances. Even Uncle Ned didn't say nothin', and grand-daddy didn't feel called on to start a conversation. It got so we was so quiet it hurt. Uncle Ed made bold to speak.
“When I was a kid,” he says, lightly, “I used to git spanked with a six-inch plank.”
“Edward!” says Marthy. “How can you say such a thing?”
“It done me good,” he says. “You can't begin too young. We 've all got the devil in us, and the only way to git it out is to pound it out.”