“It is a little girl who was hurt by a rude boy, and she says she has no home, and wants to stay all night, and will sleep in the woodshed. She says she steals sometimes, but we can lock her up if we want to.”
Mrs. Platts looked in pity, as she uttered the last sentence.
“A very honest thief, I should judge,” said Mr. 32 Platts, laughing at Zula’s remark. “I never before saw one honest enough to put people on their guard.”
“Shall we allow her to stay in the woodhouse?” Mrs. Platts asked of her husband.
“It seems to me that you might find a better place than that for her to sleep; she would be afraid to sleep there.”
“No, I ain’t afraid,” said Zula, brushing back her long black hair. “I ain’t afraid of nothin’.”
“But you will be when the gas is lit, and we are in the house, and you out there in the dark.”
“No, I won’t.”
“Why do you wish to stay out there?” Mrs. Platts asked.
“’Cause I ain’t fit to stay in the house; I’m too—too bad looking.”