Ma hurried back, and Winfield was limp and relaxed in her arms. Ma carried him into the house and knelt down and laid him on a mattress. “Tell me. What’s the matter?” she demanded. He opened his eyes dizzily and shook his head and closed his eyes again.
Ruthie said, “I tol’ ya, Ma. He skittered all day. Ever’ little while. Et too many peaches.”
Ma felt his head. “He ain’t fevered. But he’s white and drawed out.”
Tom came near and held the lantern down. “I know,” he said. “He’s hungered. Got no strength. Get him a can a milk an’ make him drink it. Make ’im take milk on his mush.”
“Winfiel’,” Ma said. “Tell how ya feel.”
“Dizzy,” said Winfield, “jus’ a whirlin’ dizzy.”
“You never seen such skitters,” Ruthie said importantly.
Pa and Uncle John and Al came into the house. Their arms were full of sticks and bits of brush. They dropped their loads by the stove.
“Now what?” Pa demanded.
“It’s Winfiel’. He needs some milk.”