Nancy's lips relaxed a little.
"I wish ye WOULD call it somethin', Mr. Tom an' somethin' good
an' strong, too. Drat it! Ter think of its runnin' down our
little girl! I always hated the evil-smellin' things, anyhow--I
did, I did!"
"But where is she hurt?"
"I don't know, I don't know," moaned Nancy. "There's a little cut
on her blessed head, but 'tain't bad--that ain't--Miss Polly
says. She says she's afraid it's infernally she's hurt."
A faint flicker came into Old Tom's eyes.
"I guess you mean internally, Nancy," he said dryly. "She's hurt
infernally, all right--plague take that autymobile!--but I don't
guess Miss Polly'd be usin' that word, all the same."
"Eh? Well, I don't know, I don't know," moaned Nancy, with a
shake of her head as she turned away. "Seems as if I jest
couldn't stand it till that doctor gits out o' there. I wish I
had a washin' ter do--the biggest washin' I ever see, I do, I
do!" she wailed, wringing her hands helplessly.
Even after the doctor was gone, however, there seemed to be
little that Nancy could tell Mr.
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