"Why don't I think it's wrong to steal?" the girl asked soberly.
Alf shook his head. "It ain't ... for us...."
"But I've read that it is," she protested, scowling into the darkness. "I read it in a book, about a man that stole; that book said it was wrong. Why don't I think it's wrong?"
She turned her face to him and he looked down to see, under the starlight, her mouth pathetically drooping, her lips trembling, and the big brown eyes filled with perplexed tears.
"Why'm I so different from other folks? Maybe that's why I never had no friends...."
"It ain't wrong for you to steal from her," he said defensively.
The girl looked ahead again.
"No, it can't be. I hate her.... I like to steal from her. But why ain't it wrong for me if it's wrong for anybody else?"
"I've allus told you it was the thing to do. Ain't that enough?" he asked wearily....
"Did you see him this mornin'?"—as if to change the subject.