``No you won't,'' Big Hans said.

``Yes, Hans, if they're needed,'' Ma said.

Hans shook his head but neither of us tried to stop her. If we had, then one of us would have had to go instead. Hans rubbed the kid with more snow & & & rubbed & & & rubbed.

``I'll get more snow,'' I said. I took the pail and shovel and went out on the porch. I don't know where Ma went. I thought she'd gone upstairs and expected to hear she had. She had surprised Hans like she had surprised me when she said she'd go, and then she surprised him again when she came back so quick like she must have, because when I came in with the snow she was there with a bottle with three white feathers on its label and Hans was holding it angrily by the throat.

Oh, he was being queer and careful, pawing about in the drawer and holding the bottle like a snake at the length of his arm. He was awful angry because he'd thought Ma was going to do something big, something heroic even, especially for her. I know him. I know him. We felt the same sometimes, while Ma wasn't thinking about that at all, not anything like that. There was no way of getting even. It wasn't like getting cheated at the fair. They were always trying so you got to expect it. Now Hans had given Ma something of his -- we both had when we thought she was going straight to Pa -- something valuable; but since she didn't know we'd given it to her, there was no easy way of getting it back.