He flung himself on Ralph, burying his face in the other boy's
coat, and sobbed out some disjointed story which only Ralph could
hear ... and then as last and final climax of the disaster, who should
come looking over the shoulders of the children but Uncle Henry AND Mr.
Pond! And 'Lias all ragged and dirty again! Betsy sat down weakly on a
pile of wood, utterly disheartened. What was the use of anything!
"What's the matter?" asked the two men together.
Ralph turned, with an angry toss of his dark head, and told them
bitterly, over the heads of the children: "He just had some decent
clothes. ... First ones he's EVER had! And he was plotting on going to
the exercises in the Town Hall. And that darned old skunk of a
stepfather has gone and taken 'em and sold 'em to get whiskey. I'd like
to KILL him!"
Betsy could have flung her arms around Ralph, he looked so exactly the
way she felt. "Yes, he is a darned old skunk!" she said to herself,
rejoicing in the bad words she did not know before. It TOOK bad words to
qualify what had happened.
She saw an electric spark pass from Ralph's blazing eyes to Mr. Pond's
broad face, now grim and fierce. She saw Mr. Pond step forward, brushing
the children out of his way, like a giant among dwarfs. She saw him
stoop and pick little 'Lias up in his great, strong arms, and, holding
him close, stride furiously out of the woodshed, across the playground
to the buggy which was waiting for him.
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