His grumpy silence of other days, his sardonic humour, gave place
to hypochondriac complainings and outbursts of fierce temper. Pony had
hurt his foot in a machine at the factory and it required daily
dressing. Johnnie understood from the sounds which greeted her that the
sore foot was being bandaged.
"Hold still, cain't ye?" growled Himes. "I ain't a-hurtin' ye. Now you
set in to bawl and I'll give ye somethin' to bawl for--hear me?"
The old man was skilful with hurts, but he was using such unnecessary
roughness in this case as set the plucky little chap to sobbing, and,
just as Johnnie entered the room, got him heavy-handed punishment for
it. It was an unfortunate time to bring up the question of Deanie; yet
it must be settled at once.
"Pap," said the girl, urgently, "the baby ain't fit to go to the mill
to-night--if ever she ought. You said that you'd get day work for them
all. If you won't do that, let Deanie stay home for a spell. She sure
enough isn't fit to work."
Himes faced his stepdaughter angrily.
"When I say a child's fitten to work--it's fitten to work," he rounded
on her. "I hain't axed your opinion--have I? No. Well, then, keep it to
yourself till it is axed for. You Pony, your foot's done and ready. You
get yourself off to the mill, or you'll be docked for lost time."
The little fellow limped sniffling out; Johnnie reached down for Deanie,
who had crept after her to hear how her cause went.
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