Ada had said:
“Don’t be silly. Dolls don’t feel. But she is disfigured for life, like smallpox.”
I threw her down. I rushed up to Charles’ room, bent upon avenging her. Hanging on the wall was a lacrosse stick, the most treasured possession of my brother. I seized a pair of scissors and I cut the catgut of that lacrosse. As it snapped, I felt a pain and terror in my heart. I tried to mend it, but it was ruined.
Ada’s shocked face showed at the door.
“I’m glad!” I cried to her defiantly.
“Poor Charles,” said Ada, “saved up all of his little money to get that stick, and he did all those extra chores, and he’s the captain of the Shamrock Lacrosse team. You are a mean, wicked girl, Marion.”
“I tell you I’m glad!” I declared fiercely.
But when Charles came home and saw it, he held that stick to his face and burst out crying, and Charles never, never cried. I felt like a murderer, and I cried out:
“Oh, I’m sorry, Charles. Here’s all my pennies. You buy a new one.”
“You devil!” he stormed and lifted up his hand to strike me. I fled behind papa’s chair, but I wished, oh! how I wished, that Charles would forgive me.