Most nights, after supper, Papa sat by the fire and counted
his store money. But that night, when I got into the fireplace
room, I saw his striped money sack was still hanging over the
back of his chair. Papa was sitting there in his rocker, frowning
and looking into the fire. So I knew he was thinking about Mister
Ward. Mama had told Papa a hundred times to quit thinking of that
man, but Papa said that was impossible.
Mierd and Wiley were at their study table in the corner, but
they surely weren't studying. They didn't even have their books
out. Wiley was trying to make a new slingshot out of a forked
stick and an old leather shoe tongue; all Mierd was doing was
holding her cat in her lap. Nero liked that. He was purring and
purring as Mierd stroked his slick, yellow fur. Wiley flipped his
slingshot over toward Nero's tail.
"Don't you hurt Nero!"
"Mierd, your old cat sounds like a pea thrasher!"
"Nero does not sound like a pea thrasher! Do you, kitty?"
"He sounds worse!"
"Now, now," Papa told both of them.
Pages:
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120