“Bunch,” said Tiny, “Bunch, mamma says to hurry right straight home; and guess what there is for dinner. Chicken pot-pie, and it’s my turn to have the wish-bone! Why, Bunch, what’s the matter with you? What a baby! You’re always forever a-crying about something or other. Come on now. I’m going right home; and you’ll get an awful punishing for coming here!”
The eyes of the Midgett girls glared at her and the insult.
“O, dear! O, dear!” sobbed Bunch, just peeping from one corner of her apron at the outer door.
“O, dear, what?” snapped Tiny, in such a hurry for a drumstick.
“Tiny, did you see anything on the front stoop when you came in?” asked Bunch, her eye still peeping at the outer door.
“Any what?”
“O, any—any cats—any wildcats?”
“Wildcats—what are they?”
“O!” said the Midgetts, shouting together; “wildcats! dreffle ones! my! yes! green eyes! awful cats, that spit fire out o’ their mouths, and claws that’ll scratch yer to death;” imitating the clawing with their long dirty fingers quite in the face of poor Bunch, who immediately retired to the seclusion of her apron, and continued her frightened sobs.
“O, where? where?” asked Tiny, excitedly, opening wide her big blue eyes, and glancing uneasily in every corner.