I
Little Jim was, for the time, engine Number 36, and he was making the
run between Syracuse and Rochester. He was fourteen minutes behind
time, and the throttle was wide open. In consequence, when he swung
around the curve at the flower-bed, a wheel of his cart destroyed a
peony. Number 36 slowed down at once and looked guiltily at his
father, who was mowing the lawn. The doctor had his back to this
accident, and he continued to pace slowly to and fro, pushing the
mower.
Jim dropped the tongue of the cart. He looked at his father and at the
broken flower. Finally he went to the peony and tried to stand it on
its pins, resuscitated, but the spine of it was hurt, and it would
only hang limply from his hand. Jim could do no reparation. He looked
again towards his father.
He went on to the lawn, very slowly, and kicking wretchedly at the
turf. Presently his father came along with the whirring machine, while
the sweet, new grass blades spun from the knives. In a low voice, Jim
said, "Pa!"
The doctor was shaving this lawn as if it were a priest's chin. All
during the season he had worked at it in the coolness and peace of the
evenings after supper. Even in the shadow of the cherry-trees the
grass was strong and healthy. Jim raised his voice a trifle. "Pa!"
The doctor paused, and with the howl of the machine no longer
occupying the sense, one could hear the robins in the cherry-trees
arranging their affairs. Jim's hands were behind his back, and
sometimes his fingers clasped and unclasped. Again he said, "Pa!" The
child's fresh and rosy lip was lowered.
The doctor stared down at his son, thrusting his head forward and
frowning attentively. "What is it, Jimmie?"
"Pa!" repeated the child at length. Then he raised his finger and
pointed at the flowerbed. "There!"
"What?" said the doctor, frowning more. "What is it, Jim?"
After a period of silence, during which the child may have undergone a
severe mental tumult, he raised his finger and repeated his former
word--"There!" The father had respected this silence with perfect
courtesy. Afterwards his glance carefully followed the direction
indicated by the child's finger, but he could see nothing which
explained to him. "I don't understand what you mean, Jimmie," he said.
It seemed that the importance of the whole thing had taken away the
boy's vocabulary, He could only reiterate, "There!"
The doctor mused upon the situation, but he could make nothing of it.
At last he said, "Come, show me."
Together they crossed the lawn towards the flower-bed. At some yards
from the broken peony Jimmie began to lag. "There!" The word came
almost breathlessly.
"Where?" said the doctor.
Jimmie kicked at the grass. "There!" he replied.
The doctor was obliged to go forward alone. After some trouble he
found the subject of the incident, the broken flower. Turning then, he
saw the child lurking at the rear and scanning his countenance.
The father reflected. After a time he said, "Jimmie, come here." With
an infinite modesty of demeanor the child came forward. "Jimmie, how
did this happen?"
The child answered, "Now--I was playin' train--and--now--I runned over
it."
"You were doing what?"
"I was playin' train."
The father reflected again. "Well, Jimmie," he said, slowly, "I guess
you had better not play train any more to-day. Do you think you had
better?"
"No, sir," said Jimmie.
During the delivery of the judgment the child had not faced his
father, and afterwards he went away, with his head lowered, shuffling
his feet.