Peletiah, left alone with the letters, turned them over and over in his
hands, as he stood quite still in the middle of the kitchen floor. He never
thought of disobeying, and presently he pulled up another chair, just in
front of Grandma, and sat slowly down.
"Oh, I know she's got hurted bad," she kept groaning, "an' I shan't never
see her again. Oh, the pretty creeter! Hain't she hurted bad?" she asked
anxiously, bringing her cap frills to bear on the boy in front.
"Yes, I guess so," said Peletiah cheerfully; "she fell way down all over
the cat sitting on the stairs."
"Where'd you say she fell?" screamed Grandma.
"Cellar stairs," Peletiah raised his voice, too, and sprawled out his hands
to show how his Aunt Jerusha must have descended.
"Oh, me! oh, my!" exclaimed Grandma, in great sorrow, "that blessed little
creeter! to think she's fell and got hurted!"
"She ain't little," said Peletiah, who was extremely literal, "she's awful
long and bony!" And he could think of no special reason for calling her
blessed, but that might be Grandma's fancy.
"Well, read them letters," said Grandma mournfully, when she could control
her speech enough to say anything; "maybe they'll tell more about the
accident," and she put her hand again behind her best ear.
"'Tain't in the letters," said Peletiah, "it's only just happened.
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