"Wasn't I one?" she insisted again.
He came back to himself with a shock--or away from himself, as the case
happened. He was loath that the conversation should cease.
"What?" he answered. "Oh, yes; you bet you was a Samaritan, even if you
didn't have no olive oil." He remembered what his mind had been dwelling
on, and asked, "But ain't you afraid?"
"Of ... of me?" he added lamely.
She laughed merrily.
"Mamma says never to be afraid of anything. She says that if you're
good, and you think good of other people, they'll be good, too."
"And you was thinkin' good of me when you kept the sun off," he
marveled.
"But it's hard to think good of bees and nasty crawly things," she
confessed.
"But there's men that is nasty and crawly things," he argued.
"Mamma says no. She says there's good in everyone.
"I bet you she locks the house up tight at night just the same," he
proclaimed triumphantly.
"But she doesn't. Mamma isn't afraid of anything. That's why she lets me
play out here alone when I want. Why, we had a robber once. Mamma got
right up and found him. And what do you think! He was only a poor hungry
man. And she got him plenty to eat from the pantry, and afterward she
got him work to do.
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