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Show page 193 before you milk." She took the lower part of her print apron and wiped his face. He shied away. She took him firmly by the arm and led him into the kitchen. "Get undressed," she said. "I'll get you dry clothes." She went to a bedroom for them. The boy stepped to the stove and lifted the lid of a pot and smelled beef stew. He replaced the pot lid, turned and looked about the large kitchen for his milking buckets. His hair and face were still shiny wet; a small puddle of water began to form on the floor. Katie came back with dry overalls, flannel shirt, and a large bath towel. Her hair shone coppery in the lamplight. Her lower lip was set determinedly. She placed the clothing on a chair and stood above the boy and started unbuttoning his wet shirt. He backed away. The wet seat of his overalls sizzled against the hot stove. "Get those wet things off," his sister said, her voice impatient now. The boy peered around her, looking for an avenue of escape. Katie extended her arms, the towel in one hand. The boy resigned himself, knowing that she would flip him on the floor or chase him until she caught him. Katie was willowy, had played basketball in high school, was a hundred and twenty three agile pounds, was as strong as a bear cub. The boy slipped his galluses from his shoulders, shucked his shirt over his head and stood near the stove as naked as the day he was born. |