"Miss Mills," said Babs, in her clear voice, "we want to know something very badly. Do you love pigs?"
"Do I love pigs?" asked Miss Mills with a start. "You ridiculous child, what nonsense you are talking!"
"But do you?" repeated Babs. "It is most important for Judy and me to know; for we love them, poor things—we think they're awfully nice."
Miss Mills laughed in the kind of manner which always irritated Judy.
"I am sorry not to be able to join your very peculiar hero-worship, my dears," she said. "I can't say that I am attached to the pig."
"Then it is very wrong of you," said Judy, her eyes flashing, "when you think of all the poor pig does for you."
"Of all the poor pig does for me! What next?"
"You wouldn't be the woman you are but for the pig," said Judy. "Don't you eat him every day of your life for breakfast? You wouldn't be as strong as you are but for the poor pig, and the least you can do is to love him. I don't suppose he likes being killed to oblige you."
Judy's great eyes were flashing, and her little sensitive mouth was quivering.
Miss Mills gave her a non-comprehending glance. She could not in the least fathom the child's queer passionate nature. Injustice of all sorts preyed upon Judy; she could make herself morbid on almost any theme, and a gloomy picture now filled her little soul. The animals were giving up their lives for the human race, and the human race did not even give them affection in return.