“What’s happened, Dod?” he began at once. “When I came up, Chirstie was sitting on the doorstep crying. What’s the matter? Don’t you mind her?”
Dod was instantly resentful.
“It’s nothing I done.” He was decided and scornful. “She won’t even let me go swimming a minute. She wants me to stay here all the time. She cries all the time, no matter what I do!”
This was worse than Wully had expected.
“Was she crying before now?” he asked.
“She cries all the time, I tell you.” He spoke carelessly. Girls’ tears were nothing to him. “She cries when she’s eating. She gets up in the morning crying. She’s daft!”
“You mustn’t say that, Dod!” said Wully sharply. “Can’t a girl grieve for her mother without being called daft? That’s no way for a man to speak!”
Dod was abashed, but unconvinced.
“She’s not grieving for mother,” he answered, defending himself. “She’s grieving for herself.”
This sounded good to Wully. He hoped she was unhappy for the same reason he was.