“Deedee!” I says, in a voice that was new and that she wasn't acquainted
with; “go to sleep! Be quiet! Stop this instant, or I _will_ SPANK you!”
I guess, mebby, the angels kept on singin' as joyful as ever up in
Heaven. I guess, mebby, somewhere out west further, the sun was shinin'
down gay on noddin', careless flowers. Mebby, even in the next block,
some good baby was bein' snuggled up in its ma's arms; but to Deedee,
lyin' in the corner of her crib, the world had got a million years
older in about a minute. Her world that had been all smiles and pleasant
things had turned into a world of hard words and cruel faces. Her mama
dear had on a mask of unfeelin' coldness. Her papa dear stood up there
towerin' above her, a sort of giant of wrath, flourishin' an awful,
mysterious weapon, the word “spank.”
It looked like everybody had gone back on her. Her friends--which was
me and Marthy, her playmates--which was me and Marthy, her lovers--which
was me and Marthy, the providers of her joy--which was me and Marthy,
had turned into avengers. She was all alone in a world of clubs. Just
one wee kid and everybody against her.
She lay there a minute palpitatin', with her chin tremblin' piteous.
What was to be did when her parents vanished, and these strange, harsh
people took their places?
She crep' to the foot of the crib, where I was still standin', and she
got up and took hold of my arm and hugged it.
“Pa-pa!” she says, loving.