“Oh, no!” He meant that! Patricia was suddenly wild with crying. They all stood back, shocked, never expecting such a storm as this. “Oh, no! The little calf isn’t going to be killed! I won’t! I won’t! No!” She put out her hands blindly and turned from one to the other for help. Mr. Sieverson didn’t know what to do. She turned to him and beat the air with her little fists, shrieking, “Oh, you’re _wicked_!” He couldn’t stand that. His face got red. Even if she was just a child, he demanded, “Don’t you eat veal?” “No! No!” Patricia shrieked. “What, then?” he demanded. She had to look at him. Her little pink mouth was open and her bright eyes drowned. She quavered, “Other kinds of meat ... I’ll eat chicken,” and turned piteously to Uncle Dave. Mr. Sieverson didn’t like to be called “wicked” by anyone. The injustice, when he had just been trying to be nice to this little girl, too, hurt him. His wife murmured, “Well, now, Henry----” But he insisted, “Don’t chicken have to be killed before you can eat it?” But even Mr. Sieverson, although he was in the right of it, felt ashamed when he saw the little thing cry. Mrs. Sieverson gave him a look, stroked Patricia’s hair, and said, “They won’t take the calf.” Mr. Lindsay hastened to promise, “No, no. Of course we won’t take the calf.” They were all trying now to reassure her. Vila was crying, too. The boys were pleading, “Patricia!” although they didn’t know just what they would say to her in comfort if they got her to look at them. “No, no, it isn’t going. It won’t have to be tied up. See, he’s put away the rope.” The two men settled the thing with a look above her head. Patricia looked up at last, with piteous drowned eyes, as dark as wet violets. She broke away from all of them and, running to the calf--fearful of touching things as she was--she threw her arms in protection around its neck and stared fiercely at the shamefaced people. “Oh, no, we couldn’t take it!” Mr. Lindsay muttered. He cleared his throat. The children surrounded Patricia again. They were begging her not to cry. Her cheek was laid against the little calf’s silky ear, and she was telling it, in her own mind, “Don’t you care, don’t you mind, precious little calf, I’ve saved you.” She let herself be drawn away but said “No!” when Mrs. Sieverson wanted to wipe the tears from her cheeks, and held up the little wet face trustingly for Leone to do it. That pleased all the Sieversons greatly. “So now we can go! Hm?” Mr. Lindsay asked her. She seemed to have forgiven them. She didn’t want to look at Mr. Sieverson, but when she said good-bye to Mrs. Sieverson she touched her little skirts and made a curtsey. Clyde pinched Marvin to tell him to look. The children watched her with as great delight as they had watched the tightrope walker in the “show.” Mr. Lindsay lifted her into the car. She smiled faintly at the children, but there were stains of tears on her pearly cheeks, and her eyes were still as dark as violets.