I remember the grin of pleasure in his cruelty that wrinkled his
round, red face when at last he found the dart that stung. His words--ah,
they are no dream! They were the awakening, the prelude of to-day.
"Janey's prettier'n what you be," he said; and of a sudden I knew that it
was true, and felt that the knowledge nearly broke my heart.
But could there be any doubt of the proper reply?
"Huh!" I said, shrugging my lean shoulders. "I don't care!"
The day before it would have been true, but that day it was a lie. I did
care; the brave words blistered my throat, sudden tears burned my
eyeballs, and to hide them I turned my back upon my tormentor.
It was not that I was jealous. I cared no more for Billy than for a dozen
other playmates. It was just the fact that hurt. I was homely! Not that
the idea was new to me, either. Dear me, no! Why, from my earliest years I
had been accustomed to think of myself as plain, and had not cared. My
earliest recollection, almost, is of two women who one day talked about me
in my presence, not thinking that I would understand.
"Ain't she humbly?" said one.
"Dretful! It's a pity.
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