“I hate you because you are the Devil! Rot in Hell!” She was shocked at her own accusation, how she had savored the words. On a stool eight feet high sat a small boy in a faded blue cotton, his face like that of young Buddha. "You base ingrate," she added, in a whisper, as she flounced past Mr. “My dear,” she said, when she could get her breath, “you must come home at once. But his own ferocity was less now that she was disarmed. I tried to have it out with him, but he wouldn’t have it out. I shall take to him as nat'ral as if he were my own flesh and blood afore long.
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