words meant.

"My pa beats me," he said suddenly, "always he beats me--when he's
drunk! An' sometimes he beats me when he ain't. He beats Ma, too, an'
he uster beat Jim, 'n' Ella. He don't dare beat Jim now, though"--this
proudly--"Jim's as big as he is now, an' Ella--nobody'd dast lay a
hand on Ella ..." almost as suddenly as he had started to talk, the
boy stopped.

For the moment the episode of the kitten was a forgotten thing. There was
only pity, only a blank sort of horror, on Rose-Marie's face.

"Doesn't your father love you--any of you?" she asked.

"Naw." The boy's mouth was a straight line--a straight and very bitter
line, for such a young mouth. "Naw, he only loves his booze. He hits me
all th' time--an' he's four times as big as me! An' so I hit whoever's
smaller'n I am. An' even if they cry I don't care. I hate things that's
little--that can't take care o' themselves. Everything had oughter be
able t' take care of itself!"

"Haven't you"--again Rose-Marie asked a question--"haven't you ever loved
anything that was smaller than you are? Haven't you ever had a pet?
Haven't you ever felt that you must protect and take care of some one--or
something? Haven't you?"

All at once the boy was smiling, and the smile lit up his small, dark
face as a candle, slowly flickering, brings cheer and brightness to a
dull, lonely room.