upon Marthy did an unprecedented, an utterly amazing thing. She
got up and gathered Billy Louise into her arms so unexpectedly that
Billy Louise inadvertently buried her nose in the honey she had not yet
licked off the bread. Marthy held her close pressed to her big, flabby
bosom and wept into her hair in a queer, whimpering way that somehow
made Billy Louise think of a hurt dog. It was only for a minute that
Marthy did this; she stopped almost as suddenly as she began and went
outside, wiping her eyes and her nose impartially upon her dirty apron.

Billy Louise sat paralyzed with the mixture of unusual emotions that
assailed her. She was exceedingly sticky and uncomfortable from honey
and tears, and she shivered with repugnance at the odor of Marthy's
unbathed person. She was astonished at the outburst from phlegmatic
Marthy Meilke, and her pity was now alloyed with her promise to wash
all those dirty dishes. Billy Louise felt that she had been a trifle
hasty in making promises. There was not a drop of water in the house
nor a bit of wood, and Billy Louise knew perfectly well that the
dishpan would have a greasy, unpleasant feeling under her fastidious
little fingers.

She sighed heavily. "Well, I s'pose I might just as well get to work
at 'em," she said aloud, as was her habit--being a child who had no
playmates. "I hate to dread a thing I hate."

She looked at the messy slice of sour bread and threw it out to the
speckled hen that had returned and was standing with one foot lifted
tentatively--ready for a forward step if the fates seemed kind--and was
regarding Billy Louise fixedly with one yellow eye. "Take it and go!"
cried the donor, impatient of the scrutiny. She picked up the wooden
pail and went down to the creek behind the house, by a pathway bordered
thickly with budding rosebushes and tall lilacs.

Billy Louise first of all washed her face slowly and with a methodic
thoroughness which characterized her--having lived for ten full years
with no realization of hours and minutes as a measure for her actions.
She dried her face quite as deliberately upon her starched calico
apron. Then she spent a few minutes trying to catch a baby trout in
her cupped palms. Never had Billy Louise succeeded in catching a baby
trout in her hands; therefore she never tired of trying. Now, however,
that rash promise nagged at her and would not let her enjoy the game as
completely as usual. She took the wooden pail,