By the time
she had finished sweeping, the kettle was singing, so Huldah got the
teapot and warmed it. She even warmed the cup and saucer too, in her
anxiety that Mrs. Perry should have her tea as hot as possible.
Then she cut a slice of bread as neatly as she could and toasted it.
Dick was lying out in the sun, gnawing at the remains of his
ham-bone, as happy as a dog could be. Huldah glanced out at him
every now and then while she was toasting the bread, and tried to
realise that they were the same two who only yesterday morning were
thrashed so unmercifully--she, for giving Dick some bread and butter,
and Dick for eating it, after which had followed that dreadful scene
when her uncle Tom had kicked poor old helpless Charlie so cruelly,
partly because the poor old horse moved slowly, but chiefly because
he knew that it would hurt Huldah more than any beating or starving
of herself could.
It hurt her so greatly that she felt she could not bear it any
longer, and then and there made up her mind to run away. Half of
Charlie's kicks and blows were given him, she knew, because they hurt
and angered her. Perhaps, she thought, if she were gone life would
become easier for him. So she went,--and that was only yesterday,
and the only pang of feeling or remorse that she felt for what she
had done was the loss of Charlie.
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