"Get up this minute," said Sylvia. "I don't believe the water was hot
enough to scald you; it never is really hot. Here, help me sop it up,"
and grabbing her bath towel Sylvia began to mop up the little stream of
water which was trickling across the floor.
Estralla managed to get to her feet. She was still holding fast to the
handle of the broken pitcher. The front of her cotton dress was soaked,
but she was not hurt.
"I'll get whipped, yas'm, I will, fer breaking the pitcher."
"You won't!" declared Sylvia, half angrily. "It's my mother's pitcher,
and I'll tell her you didn't mean to break it. Now you go and put on
another dress, and tell Jennie to come up here and wipe up this floor."
"I ain't got no other dress; an' if I goes an' tells I'll get whipped,"
persisted the child.
Sylvia began to wonder what she could do. She thought Estralla was
stupid and clumsy to fall down and break the pitcher, and now she
thought her silly to be so frightened.
"I tells you, Missy, I su'ly will be whipped," she repeated so earnestly
that Sylvia began to believe it. "An' when my mammy sees my dress all
wet--" and Estralla began to sob, but so quietly that Sylvia realized
the little darky was really frightened and unhappy.
"Don't cry, Estralla," she said more gently, patting her on the
shoulder. "I'll tell you what to do. You are just about my size, and
I'll give you one of my dresses. It's pink, and it's faded a little, but
it's pretty. And you take this towel and wipe up the floor as well as
you can.
Pages:
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25