Luella plunged into dramatic recital with an effect of being all eyeballs and incredibly rapid jaws. “--An’ Mis’ Gowdy, nex’ thing Ah heah’d Wilbuh hollerin’ an’ Ah come runnin’ an’ heah she was lammin’ him lak he was her own chile! An’ Ah ain’t gwine tek no talk lak she done give me offa no white lady!” “Hush, Luella, please----!” “I’m real sorry I smacked the little fella,” said Mrs. Shields. Her ire had flickered out as suddenly as it exploded; she spoke in visible distress and remorse. “I didn’t go to hurt him, just to make him mind. I only wanted to stop him stompin’ and slammin’ them chickens. I--I just plumb couldn’t stand it. You look what he done, Mis’ Gowdy, you just look. You wouldn’ta left him do that yourself if you’d been here.” Mrs. Gowdy clicked regretfully, viewing the massacre. “Tst! Tst! Why, Wilbur, did you hurt the chickies? Did mother’s little boy do that? Don’t you remember mother’s often told you you mustn’t hurt _anything_?” “Make chicky go?” Wilbur suggested with reviving spirits. “Make _go_, mamma?” “No, Wilbur, can’t. My little boy must be kind to dumb animals,” said Mrs. Gowdy in gentle reproof. “He’s too little, he can’t understand, he don’t know any better. It ain’t any use _telling_ him; there’d oughta be somebody after him,” argued Mrs. Shields desperately. “I’m awful sorry, but I just _had_ to make him quit it. I know I hadn’t no right to, but----” “Yes? Yes!” said Mrs. Gowdy vaguely but forgivingly. The older children stood around in a silence that conveyed a certain clannish hostility toward Mrs. Shields, yet no very lively sympathy for Wilbur. Luella retired sulkily, and Mrs. Gowdy looked after her with something as near anxiety as her placid countenance could express. “I do hope she won’t leave!” “Mis’ Gowdy, I wouldn’ta done it, only there wasn’t none of you round, and _somebody_ had to!” “Yes? Well, perhaps it would have been better to telephone in and tell me first. But never mind!” said Mrs. Gowdy kindly.