"Nobody never told me," he said gruffly. "But I _know_."

The kitten against Rose-Marie's breast cried piteously. Perhaps it was
the hopelessness of the cry that made her want so desperately to make the
boy understand. Conquering the loathing she had felt toward him she
managed the ghost of a smile.

"I wish," she said, and the smile became firmer, brighter, as she said
it, "I wish that you'd sit down, here, beside me. I want to tell you
about the animals that I've had for pets--and about how they loved me. I
had a white dog once; his name was Dick. He used to go to the store for
me, he used to carry my bundles home in his mouth--and he did tricks--"

The boy had seated himself, gingerly, on the bench. He interrupted her,
and his voice was eager.

"Did yer have t' beat him," he questioned, "t' make him do the tricks?
Did he bleed when yer beat him?"

Again Rose-Marie gasped. She leaned forward until her face was on a level
with the boy's face.

"Why," she asked him, "do you think that the only way to teach an animal
is to teach him by cruelty? I taught my dog tricks by being kind and
sweet to him. Why do you talk of beatings--I couldn't hurt anything, even
if I disliked it, until it _bled_!"

The small boy drew back from Rose-Marie. His expression was vaguely
puzzled--it seemed almost as if he did not comprehend what her