she is dead an' th' ain't no
home to go to an' sometimes when Polly an' me can't stop cryin' Cousin
Dink says if we stop an' are real good some day she might take us back
to our mother."

"Cousin Dink is a born liar, so we don't know what to think," spoke
Polly coolly.

"Is she really?" questioned Josie cautiously. "I hope you and Peter
don't tell lies."

"We don't know how to very well because we were not born that way, but
Cousin Dink has taught us right smart. You get out of lots of trouble
if you can lie easy like Cousin Dink."

Josie felt satisfied now that she would be able by degrees to extract
their story from the children. "There is nothing like a pleasantly full
stomach to make one talk," she said to herself. "I had a feeling
pancakes would turn the trick. Dr. Weston was trying to get something
out of them when the poor little creatures were too hungry to expand."

"Who is Cousin Dink? Is she your mother's cousin?"

"She ain't 'zactly our cousin--that is, she told me so one time when
she got so mad with me 'cause I chopped off my hair. That was two or
three days ago. I couldn't get the tangles out and she wouldn't try,
but just pulled the comb through as though she liked to hurt me, so I
just up and cut it off with one slash. She said, 'God knows I'm glad
you are no blood relation to me, you abominable brat!' I was so glad to
near for sure that she wasn't a really truly cousin that I didn't mind
a bit being called an abominable brat. Cousin Dink is always talking
about God--not praying or loving him, but saying 'God knows!' and 'God
is my witness!' and sometimes even worse things, but Peter and I never
say the things she says because we know our mother wouldn't like it."

"Have you always known your Cousin Dink?"

"Oh, no indeed! We never saw her until the day she came and brought us
away."

"Away from your mother and father?"

"No, just away from home! You see, our father went to fight in the war.
That was a long time ago, so long ago that Peter can't remember him,
but he tries to. He can remember the porridge bowl with rabbits on it
that Father gave him. He gave me one, too, with chickens on it. And he
can 'most remember how Father used to tell us to eat up all the cream
out of the bottom so the poor rabbits and chickens could breathe. I was
not as old as Peter is now when he went away and Peter wasn't but two.
And after he was gone Mother used to cry a lot but she never did let
people see her,