“I—I might have tried to raise it,” Julie said, weakly.
“No, you could not,” Mrs. Anderson retorted. “You don’t know what to feed it; an’ even s’posing you did, you ain’t got time to waste pokin’ fishin’ worms down a nasty little naked bird’s throat—specially now in the war when our boys needs every single thing we can do for ’em.”
“I know, but—”
“Well, but what?”
“It sounded so awful when the cat got it!”
“Julie! I never did see any person take things as hard as you do. I reckon it’s because you’re so thin. Just look at your arms!” Mrs. Anderson took one of Julie’s hands, and pushed the loose sleeve up above her elbow. “Looks about the size of a toothpick to me. If you were fleshier, things wouldn’t get to you so quick. Look at me, now,” she commanded, drawing up her frank proportions. “Things have to go through about six inches of grease ’fore they can reach me. But you—why you’re pretty near as naked to the world as that nasty little chimney-swallow. You can’t go through life like that. Oh, it’s all right for a real young girl, but you must be over thirty; it’s time you was featherin’ up, dearie.”
Julie snapped off the light in silence, and they passed out of the shop.
“Well, I will say one thing for you, you always look s’ nice,” Mrs. Anderson approved her, as they emerged from Julie’s side door and set out together along the village street. “I never seen you when you didn’t look like you’d stepped right out of a bandbox. That’s a mighty cute little collar you got on, dearie,” she continued, fingering the delicate ruffles at Julie’s neck. Julie was constantly at the mercy of other women’s hands. Her smallness stirred their maternal instincts; they were apt to stroke her and patronize her. “I declare, you don’t seem like nothing but a doll baby to me,” her companion pursued, her large damp hand giving Julie’s shoulder a final pat. “It beats me why you never married, Julie.—Oh my Lord!” she broke off abruptly, clapping her hand to her mouth.
“What is it? What’s the matter?” Julie cried, in alarm.
Mrs. Anderson performed some violent mouth-gymnastics behind her palm. “It’s my teeth,” she explained, spasmodically, at last. “I can’t seem to get used to this new set, an’ seems like they’re always a-bitin’ at my tongue. I have to watch ’em all the time. An’ I’m mightily afraid they’ll drop out in company some day.” She withdrew her hand at length, and they started on again. “But as I say,” she continued, “I don’t see why in the name of goodness you never married.”