25

AFTER HER FIRST DIFFICULTY with her stepmother, Lena refused to take any orders except from Papa. She said she was too big to be looking after other people’s babies, and if anyone had to wheel Minelda after school it would have to be Marcia. Marcia did not mind this chore very much, since it let her out of playing games with the schoolchildren, and besides she felt there was no use arguing about it. She got a book out of the library every day and read as she wheeled. If Minelda yelled too loudly, she was sometimes exasperated to the point of giving her a good pinch. Minelda was two and a half, sickly, and inclined to whimpering, brought on by the thorough manner she was bundled up by her devoted mother, even in summer. Minelda tossed and squirmed under her usually wet woolens, suffering from prickly heat, and her pinched little face was white to the point of blueness. Her steady squirming and tugging at her little harness did not penetrate Marcia’s consciousness, absorbed as she was in her book. Even when Minelda managed to wriggle half out of her go-cart, her little caretaker paid no attention, since the sobs presently subsided into chokes and gurgles as she hung herself by her strap. Sometimes a book would be so entrancing that Marcia, resting the open book on the buggy’s handlebar, would be wheeling for several minutes peacefully before noticing that the go-cart was empty. Emerging from her daydream, Marcia would presently recognize distant shrieks and there would be Minelda, far back in the ditch where an unexpected jolt had thrown her. As soon as they were near home Minelda set up a defiant howl proclaiming all these indignities until her mother rushed out of the kitchen to snatch her up into protective arms.

“You poor, poor baby, what has that bad girl done to you?” she cried out, which set Minelda off into new sobs and indignant glares at Marcia. “Where did this bruise come from? And just look at the way she’s dirtied up your nice clean pillow! Get a rag and wipe off these wheels this very minute, Marcia Willard! I never saw such a disgraceful sight. No wonder the poor child cries!”

Attention being directed to the damage done the go-cart and Minelda, Marcia registered mild astonishment on seeing that there were dents in the carriage where she had absentmindedly banged it into a tree or wall. Remnants of twigs and gravel on Minelda’s bib indicated a misguided feast on definitely inedible items.

“She’ll be sick!” moaned her mother. “Why did you let her?”

“I can’t help it if a person wants to eat caterpillars,” Marcia argued in self-defense. “If that’s what she likes, I can’t stop her.”

“Wheel her down the paved streets after this,” Minelda’s mother commanded. “Why must you always take these back alleys?”

“Because my dress is torn, that’s why,” Marcia said.

“I’d be ashamed to be so vain,” said her stepmother. “Nobody is looking at an ugly little girl like you, anyway. Wait a minute, now, what are you hiding under your jacket? Is that a book?”