"
Aunt Jamsiah paused a moment, considering; then she went straight
to the point. "Pepsy wants to do right, dear, but she will do wrong
in order to do right--sometimes. We have always been a little fearful
of her for that reason. She--she can't argue in her own mind and consider
things as--as you do."
"I know lots of dandy arguments," Pee-Wee announced.
"You know, Walter, her father was a--he was a--not a very good man.
And Pepsy is--queer. Last night she made a dreadful mess in the cellar.
She was at the kerosene; oh, it makes me just sick to think of it.
She had some rags soaked with kerosene. Some of them were found out
by the well. The others--" Aunt Jamsiah lifted her handkerchief to her
eyes and wept for a moment, silently.
"What others?" Pee-Wee asked.
"The ones that were used to set fire to the bridge, dear. Oh, it's
terrible to think of it. Poor, poor Pepsy. That is what is bringing
lots and lots of people along our road to-day, Walter. Pepsy was found
lying unconscious near the bridge. She had kerosene all over her. One
charred rag was found over there. It just makes me--it makes me--"
Pee-Wee arose and laid one hand on the back of the hair-cloth
chair. He, too, was concerned now.
"You--you didn't tell her--you didn't blame--accuse her--did you?"
he asked.
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