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«
Look
,
"
Winfield
cried
.
«
Looka
me
,
here
’
s
me
,
an
’
I
’
m
Uncle
John
.
»
He
flapped
his
arms
and
puffed
,
he
whirled
until
he
was
dizzy
.
«
No
,
"
said
Ruthie
.
«
Here
’
s
the
way
.
Here
’
s
the
way
.
I
’
m
Uncle
John
.
I
’
m
awful
drunk
.
»
Al
and
Tom
walked
quietly
through
the
willows
,
and
they
came
on
the
children
staggering
crazily
about
.
The
dusk
was
thick
now
.
Tom
stopped
and
peered
.
«
Ain
’
t
that
Ruthie
an
’
Winfiel
’
?
What
the
hell
’
s
the
matter
with
’
em
?
»
They
walked
nearer
.
«
You
crazy
?
»
Tom
asked
.
The
children
stopped
,
embarrassed
.
«
We
was
—
jus
’
playin
’
,
"
Ruthie
said
.
«
It
’
s
a
crazy
way
to
play
,
"
said
Al
.
Ruthie
said
pertly
,
«
It
ain
’
t
no
crazier
’
n
a
lot
of
things
.
»
Al
walked
on
.
He
said
to
Tom
,
«
Ruthie
’
s
workin
’
up
a
kick
in
the
pants
.
She
been
workin
’
it
up
a
long
time
.
’
Bout
due
for
it
.
»
Ruthie
mushed
her
face
at
his
back
,
pulled
out
her
mouth
with
her
forefinger
,
slobbered
her
tongue
at
him
,
outraged
him
in
every
way
she
knew
,
but
Al
did
not
turn
back
to
look
at
her
.
She
looked
at
Winfield
again
to
start
the
game
,
but
it
had
been
spoiled
.
They
both
knew
it
.
«
Le
’
s
go
down
the
water
an
’
duck
our
heads
,
"
Winfield
suggested
.
They
walked
down
through
the
willows
,
and
they
were
angry
at
Al
.
