Miss Anita Clement was the maiden lady who had rented, with her two
unmarried sisters, Mr. David Lothrop's house at the west end of the
village. She had a girlish figure, good features and soulful eyes.
Her exact age was somewhere between twenty-five and forty. This
lady's delicate beauty was impaired a trifle by a nervous mouth which
told, in spite of all efforts to the contrary, that its owner was
easily annoyed, and was a stranger to the various blessings of a
tranquil spirit. She had no sense of humor; but this deficiency was
counterbalanced by a profound respect for the conventions of life, and
by a sincere and humble adoration of her own religious creed, with
a corresponding contempt for all others. Her dominant attribute was
timidity. Compared with Miss Clement, the average mouse was a fearless
desperado. As is usually the case with such temperaments, her nerves
were assertive.
This particular November afternoon they seemed to have started a revolt
throughout her whole interior mechanism; and she decided to consult a
physician. So she walked out to Dr. Alton's house. On this walk--about
two miles--she passed a group of boys playing with a football. Now
boys, to Miss Clement, were the living emblems of noise and danger. Her
one dread concerning a future existence was the possibility of there
being boys in Heaven. And, in this life, the things she dreaded most
were fire, burglars, run-away horses, smallpox and boys. Her sympathy
with boys was akin to her sympathy with thunderstorms and pirates. In
passing boys in the street or on the common she held her breath in
nervous terror, expecting to be struck by a baseball, or bat or stone,
green apple or snow-ball, according to season. Only in color and in
clothing did she recognize any difference between boys and Comanche
Indians. She loved Law and Order; whereas, to a boy, Law and Order were
merely bars to freedom. She had reasons for believing that the highest
ambition of every normal boy under twelve years of age was to become an
influential outlaw. And she was not far wrong.
This being Saturday afternoon, and no school, the earth seemed swarming
with these offensive creatures. However, by going around the common
instead of across it, she reached Dr. Alton's house alive--and rang
the bell. The door was opened by yet another boy, eight or nine years
of age. Miss Clement, being a newcomer in the town, had not the honor
of this child's acquaintance. Knowing all boys to be barbarians, with
no manners, she was surprised when this one acknowledged her presence
with a smile of welcome and a ceremonious bow. It was the kind of
salutation that Louis XIV would have given to the Queen of Spain. She
might have expected it from an elderly dancing master, but never from
a boy in this New England village. Taken by surprise, she was silent
a moment, fearing this youthful savage, perhaps more uncivilized even
than other boys, was amusing himself at her expense. A good look at his
face, however, allayed suspicion. In his calm eyes and radiant smile
there was nothing but pleasure at seeing her. Beside him stood--or
rather bounced--a youthful dog. He was a fox terrier. Judging from the
activity of his tail and from the general expression of his person,
the arrival of the visitor was affording him joy and excitement. In a
tentative bark he told his welcome.
But Miss Clement hesitated. Her dread of boys was only equaled by
her aversion to dogs. How a civilized person could live in the
same house with a dog she had never been able to understand. Their
manners and customs were unspeakable. And the exuberant vitality
of this dog annoyed her. His joy was unreasoning and intemperate.
He wagged his tail with such energy as to sway his entire person.
Judging from outward vibrations his very soul was wagging. He gave the
impression--to this visitor--of having a frivolous nature. And she
found solace in the thought that, later on, he would be made to realize
that life was a serious thing.
"Is Dr. Alton at home?" she inquired.
"No, ma'am,"
"Do you know when he will return?"
"Oh, very soon! Won't you walk in?" and he stepped aside, holding the
door wide open. At the same time, he waved with his free hand a courtly
gesture toward the interior of the house. Inwardly disturbed by this
unexpected deportment of a barbarian, Miss Clement walked into the
sitting-room and seated herself on a sofa, near the open fire. It was a
large cheerful room with white woodwork and a pale green paper on the
walls, somewhat faded in places near the sunny windows. Scattered over
the large center table were many books and periodicals. On the floor
in front of her was a pair of scissors and a family Bible. The Bible
was open and three of its illustrations, recently extracted, were lying
beside it. The author of this mutilation climbed into a large arm chair
directly opposite, sitting very erect, as if on his best behavior. He
was watching her with undisguised interest and approval.
But the dog was inclined to be familiar. He jammed his nose against
her skirt and ankles and sniffed in a most offensive way. The boy saw
that these things annoyed her and he called off the brute, rebuked him
and apologized to the visitor. "I guess you have a dog, and Zac smells
him."
Miss Clement, with some severity, denied the accusation. "Indeed, I
have no dog." And it was clear from her manner that she had no such
associates.
Now all boys were alike to Miss Clement. The only striking features in
this one's face were his eyes. Their heavy lids, coming far down over
the iris, gave a half shut, drowsy look to his face, and Miss Clement
felt sorry that his parents should be afflicted with such a stupid
child. His fat, cherubic little mouth, however, seemed to indicate a
cheerful spirit. As the two sat facing each other, the young male and
the adult super-civilized female, the lady from some undefined reason
felt ill at ease. Yet she knew that nothing was more absurd than a
woman of her age being ill at ease in the presence of a nine-year-old
boy. As she looked again into his eyes she began to realize that their
very drowsiness gave an impression of abnormal serenity and repose--as
of concealing hidden depths of wisdom. Also they seemed to be sitting
in judgment on her. The fact of his being a boy aroused antipathy.
Although she knew that many good men had once been boys, as certain
butterflies have once been worms. Moreover, she knew it was not really
his own fault that he had come into the world in that form. They were
necessary evils, like taxes and old age.
"Are you Dr. Alton's son?" she asked.
"Yes, ma'am."
"What is your name?"
"Cyrus."
While Miss Clement was wondering why New Englanders persisted in
giving such names to helpless children she was startled by his saying,
regretfully:
"You don't like that name."
"Not like it? Why do you think I don't like it?"
"I know by your face."
Miss Clement blushed. The tranquil eyes were looking sadly into her own
as if investigating in a friendly way her most secret thoughts. She
became embarrassed.
"Why, yes--I like it."
"It is better than some other names."
"Indeed it is! Very much better!"
"It is the name of a great conqueror."
"Yes--of course--and--perhaps you may be a great conqueror yourself
when you grow up."
"No. I don't care for that business. I shall sit on the high seat of
a big, gold band-wagon of a circus full of splendid music, with eight
white horses. I shall drive the horses and listen to the music."
"Yes, that will be very nice."
The room seemed warm after the November chill outside, and Miss Clement
drew off her thick gloves. As her left hand dropped carelessly beside
her, upon the edge of the sofa, she felt a sickening contact with
something warm and very wet. Quickly she withdrew the hand. With an
exclamation of disgust, she held aloft the befouled member. But the
dog, whose generous tongue by one lingering stroke yielded such a vast
amount of moisture, had risen upon his hind legs to accomplish it, and
now stood looking up into her face for recognition of the friendly
act. His reward was a look of loathing. And for a moment she still held
aloft the varnished hand, uncertain what to do.