Suddenly he spat in my face. I gave him a scratch on the forehead with my finger-nails. Then we fell upon each other and rolled on the ground and hit and scratched with feline ferocity.
Mrs. Wills ran out of the house and parted us. Our blood was hot, and leaking through the skin of our faces a little.
"He pitched on me," Henry explained.
I couldn't speak.
"Go right home—this minute—you brat!" said Mrs. Wills in anger. "Here's your tea. Don't you ever come here again."
I took the tea and started down the road weeping. What a bitter day that was for me! I dreaded to face my aunt and uncle. Coming through the grove down by our gate I met Uncle Peabody. With the keen eyesight of the father of the prodigal son he had seen me coming "a long way off" and shouted:
"Well here ye be—I was kind o' worried, Bub."
Then his eye caught the look of dejection in my gait and figure. He hurried toward me. He stopped as I came sobbing to his feet.
"Why, what's the matter?" he asked gently, as he took the tea cup from my hand, and sat down upon his heels.
I could only fall into his arms and express myself in the grief of childhood. He hugged me close and begged me to tell him what was the matter.