“I kin see the soles of his feet!” shrieked Keppel with passionate intensity, his small bleached eye glued to a crack.
He was instantly ravished of the sight by Henry.
“You mean hateful thing!—just because you're bigger than Kep!” and Constance fell on the spoiler. As her mother's right-hand man she had cuffed and slapped her way to a place of power among the little brothers.
Mr. Cavendish appeared to allay hostilities.
“I 'low I'll skin you if you don't keep still! Dress!—the whole kit and b'ilin' of you!” he roared, and his manner was quite as ferocious as his words.
But the six little Cavendishes were impressed by neither. They instantly fastened on him like so many leeches. What was the pore gentleman saying?—why couldn't they hear, too? Then they'd keep still, sure they would! Did he say he knowed who throwed him in the river?
“I wonder, Connie, you ain't able to do more with these here children. Seems like you ought to—a great big girl like you,” said Mr. Cavendish, reduced to despair.
“It was Henry pickin' on Kep,” cried Constance.
“I found a crack and he took it away from me! drug me off by the legs, he did, and filled my stomach full of slivers!” wailed Keppel, suddenly remembering he had a grievance. “You had ought to let me see the pore gentleman!” he added ingratiatingly.
“Well, ain't you been seein' him every day fo' risin' two weeks and upwards?—ain't you sat by him hours at a stretch?” demanded Mr. Cavendish fiercely.