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Oh, please, please don't let them!"
"Why they'd be good to you," said Mickey largely. "They'd give you"--he
glanced at all the things the room lacked, then enumerated--"a clean bed,
lots to eat, a window you could be seeing from, a doll, maybe."
"No! No!" she cried. "Granny always said some day she'd go and leave me;
then they'd '_get_' me. She's gone! The big man said they'd come right
back. Oh don't let them! Oh hide me quick!"
"Well--well--! If you're so afraid, why don't you cut and hide yourself
then?" he asked.
"My back's bad. I can't walk," the child answered.
"Oh Lord!" said Mickey. "When did you get hurt?"
"It's always been bad. I ain't ever walked," she said.
"Well!" breathed Mickey, aghast. "And knowing she'd have to leave you some
day, your granny went and scared you stiff about the Home folks taking
you, when it's the only place for you to be going? Talk about women having
the sense to vote!"
"I won't go! I won't! I'll scratch them! I'll bite them!" Then in swift
change: "Oh boy, don't.


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