"Here."

"What am I supposed to do with these?"

"Bury them, moron." Frieda told Pecola to hold the cotton thing between her legs. "How she gonna walk like that?" I asked. Frieda didn't answer. Instead she took two safety pins from the hem of her skirt and began to pin the ends of the napkin to Pecola's dress.

I picked up the pants with two fingers and looked about for something to dig a hole with. A rustling noise in the bushes startled me, and turning toward it, I saw a pair of fascinated eyes in a dough-white face. Rosemary was watching us. I grabbed for her face and succeeded in scratching her nose. She screamed and jumped back. "Mrs. MacTeer! Mrs. MacTeer!" Rosemary hollered.

"Frieda and Claudia are out here playing nasty! Mrs. MacTeer!"

Mama opened the window and looked down at us. "What?"

"They're playing nasty, Mrs. MacTeer. Look. And Claudia hit me 'cause I seen them!" Mama slammed the window shut and came running out the back door. "What you all doing? Oh. Uh-huh.

Uh-huh. Playing nasty, huh?" She reached into the bushes and pulled off a switch. "I'd rather raise pigs than some nasty girls. Least I can slaughter them!" We began to shriek. "No, Mama. No, ma'am. We wasn't! She's a liar! No, ma'am, Mama! No, ma'am, Mama!" Mama grabbed Frieda by the shoulder, turned her around, and gave her three or four stinging cuts on her legs.

"Gonna be nasty, huh? Naw you ain't!" Frieda was destroyed.

Whippings wounded and insulted her. Mama looked at Pecola. "You too!" she said. "Child of mine or not!" She grabbed Pecola and spun her around. The safety pin snapped open on one end of the napkin, and Mama saw it fall from under her dress. The switch hovered in the air while Mama blinked. "What the devil is going on here?" Frieda was sobbing. I, next in line, began to explain.

"She was bleeding. We was just trying to stop the blood!" Mama looked at Frieda for verification.