I could see
their ugly little eyes gleaming in the dark, as they roared up at me. At
last I hit upon a plan. I threw the turnips down to them; then I got an
axe from the woodshed, and hurried round by way of the cart door to the
cellar. While the hogs were ravenously devouring the turnips, I chopped
a hole in the side of the pen, through which I pulled out little Ike. He
was a sorry sight. His thin little arms were bleeding where the hogs had
bitten him, and he was so dirty that I could hardly recognize him. When
I attempted to lead him out of the cellar, he tottered and fell
repeatedly.
At last I got him round to the house door--only to find it locked. Dole
and his wife had locked up the house and left little Ike's dinner--a
piece of corn bread and some cheese--in a tin pail on the doorstep; the
cat had already eaten most of it. I had intended to take him indoors and
wash him, for he was in a wretched condition. Finally I put him on
Dole's wheelbarrow, which I found by the door of the shed, and wheeled
him to the nearest neighbors, the Frosts, who lived about a quarter of a
mile away. Mrs. Frost had long been indignant as to the way the Doles
were treating the boy; she gladly took him in and cared for him, while I
hurried on with the eyestone.
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