"Well, then, tell her she'd better watch out for Bingy," says Henny. "He's crazy drunk down to the Dew Drop. I wouldn't stay there if I was her."
I ran the rest of the way to the Bingy house. I went round to the back door. Mis' Bingy was in the kitchen, sitting on the edge of the bed. She had the bed put up in the kitchen when the baby was born, and she'd kept it there all the year. When I stepped on to the boards, she jumped and screamed.
"Here's some steam brown bread," I says.
She set down again, trembling all over. The baby was laying over back in the bed, and it woke up and whimpered. Mis' Bingy kind of poored it with one hand, and with the other she pushed up the bandage around her head. She was big and wild-looking, and her hair was always coming down in a long, coiled-up mess on her shoulders. Her hands looked worse than Ma's.
"I guess I look funny, don't I?" she says, trying to smile. "I cut my head open some—by accident."
I hate a lie. Not because it's wicked so much as because it never fools anybody.
"Mis' Bingy," I says, "I know that Mr. Bingy threw a dish at you last night and cut your head open, because he was drunk. Well, I just met Henny, and he says he's down to the Inn, crazy drunk. Henny don't want you should stay here."
She kind of give out, as though her spine wouldn't hold up. I guess she had the idea none of the neighbors knew.
"Where can I go?" she says.
There was only one place that I could think of. "Come on over with me," I says. "Pa and the boys are there. They won't let him hurt you."