“No, I presume not.”
“Well, I don’t fink he did, ’cept when little children were naughty, or Jerusalem got out of order,” remarked Pollio, glancing at an engraving on the wall called “Christ weeping over Jerusalem.” Of course Jerusalem must have “got out of order,” or he would not have wept over it.
Pollio moved his head on the pillow uneasily. He remembered that he, too, had “got out of order;” and he did not like to look at that beautiful, sad face at the foot of the bed, for it seemed to know and feel sorry he had been so naughty.
“Wish you’d take that picture away, please!” said Pollio, twisting his mouth as if in pain.
“Why, what’s the matter, General?”
“Wish I’d runned away! Wish I had runned away!” groaned the child, in such a tone of anguish that Nunky began to fear he was losing his reason.
“Wish you’d runned away? Why, I should think you’d had trouble enough for one day, without wishing for more.”
“Wish I’d runned away from the ‘Finny-castics’—there! They kep’ a-comin’, and I kep’ a-stayin’. That’s why I got stepped on, ’cause I kep’ a-stayin’.”
“Yes, I don’t doubt you are right, General: if you had not staid, you would not have been stepped on. But how did you happen to be in the street?”