She made no answer, but went on taking off his shoe and the heavy woolen sock; his ankle was red and swollen. She raised his foot to a low wooden bench, and he watched her silently while she filled a pail with hot water. Then he noticed the food on the table.
“Finish eating, Beth,” he said. “This can wait—it doesn’t hurt much when I hold it still.”
Again she did not reply, but held his foot and ankle in the water a moment, and then, wrapping it in an improvised bandage, replaced the sock. She was very tender and gentle. Once the boy made as if to kiss her, but she pulled away, effectually but without resentment. Wonderment was in his eyes as he followed her swift, deft movements.
“Why don’t you say something, Beth?” he asked after a moment. “What’s the matter with you?”
“Now you can eat with me,” she said. She had made him as comfortable as possible, and returned to the stove.
He took the plate of food she handed him. “I know I shouldn’t have stopped, Beth—but I couldn’t do anything else, could I?”
“How did you know I was alone?” She knew what he was going to answer, and it frightened her.
“I saw your stepfather in Rocky Gulch this afternoon—no, wait, listen Beth—I’d tell you, wouldn’t I, if anything had happened?”
He went on impetuously, as though to dispel her rising fear.
“He was drunk, Beth, and he’s too old a man. Look at that”—he clenched his fist, and the muscles of his bared forearm rose up in knots—“I could have twisted his neck with that for what he said about me and you. But I promised I wouldn’t lift a hand to him, and I didn’t, no matter what he said. I didn’t mean to meet him—and then—when he said what he did I—well, I just listened and beat it, that’s all.”