the noevel dawn

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Title:Dawn
Author:EleanorH.Porter
ReleaseDate:June,2004[EBook#5874][Yes,wearemorethanoneyearahead
ofschedule][ThisfilewasfirstpostedonSeptember15,2002]
Edition:10
Language:English
Charactersetencoding:ASCII


***STARTOFTHEPROJECTGUTENBERGEBOOKDAWN***

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[Illustration:“IMUSTGO,NOW,I—MUST—GO!”]
DAWN
BY
ELEANORH.PORTER
WithIllustrationsbyLuciusWolcottHitchcock
BOSTONANDNEWYORK

1919

ToMyFriend
MRS.JAMESD.PARKER

CONTENTS
I.THEGREATTERROR
II.DAD
III.FORJERRYANDNED


IV.SCHOOL
V.WAITING
VI.LIGHTSOUT
VII.SUSANTOTHERESCUE
VIII.AUNTNETTIEMEETSHERMATCH
IX.SUSANSPEAKSHERMIND
X.ANDNETTIECOLEBROOKSPEAKSHERS
XI.NOTPATSBUTSCRATCHES
XII.CALLERSFOR“KEITHIE”
XIII.FREEVERSE—ALASUSAN

XIV.ASURPRISEALLAROUND
XV.AGAINSUSANTAKESAHAND
XVI.THEWORRYOFIT
XVII.DANIELBURTONTAKESTHEPLUNGE
XVIII.“MISSSTEWART”
XIX.AMATTEROFLETTERS
XX.WITHCHINUP
XXI.THELION
XXII.HOWCOULDYOU,MAZIE?
XXIII.JOHNMCGUIRE
XXIV.ASSUSANSAWIT


XXV.KEITHTOTHERESCUE
XXVI.MAZIEAGAIN
XXVII.FORTHESAKEOFJOHN
XXVIII.THEWAY
XXIX.DOROTHYTRIESHERHAND
XXX.DANIELBURTON’S“JOB”
XXXI.WHATSUSANDIDNOTSEE
XXXII.THEKEY
XXXIII.ANDALLONACCOUNTOFSUSAN

ILLUSTRATIONS
“Imustgo,now.I—must—go!”
SusanBettstalkingwithMrs.McGuireovertheback-yardfence
“Wantyou?Ialwayswantyou!”
“You’vehelpedmore—thanyou’lleverknow”
Hegaveheralmostnochancetosayanythingherself
Keith’sarmshotoutandhishandfell,coveringhers

ItwaswellthattheJapanesescreenonthefrontpiazzawasdown


CHAPTERI
THEGREATTERROR
ItwasonhisfourteenthbirthdaythatKeithBurtondiscoveredtheGreatTerror,
thoughhedidnotknowitbythatnameuntilsomedaysafterward.Heknew
only,tohissurpriseanddistress,thatthe“TreasureIsland,”giventohimbyhis
fatherforabirthdaypresent,wasprintedintypesoblurredandpoorthathe
couldscarcelyreadit.
Hesaidnothing,ofcourse.Infactheshutthebookveryhastily,withaquick,
sidewiselook,lesthisfathershouldseeandnoticetheimperfectionofhisgift.
Poorfather!Hewouldfeelsobadafterhehadtakenallthatpainsandspentall
thatmoney—andforsomethingnotabsolutelynecessary,too!Andthentoget
cheatedlikethat.For,ofcourse,hehadbeencheated—suchhorridprintthat
nobodycouldread.
ButitwasonlyadayortwolaterthatKeithfoundsomemorehorridprint.This
timeitwasinhisfather’sweeklyjournalthatcameeverySaturdaymorning.He
founditagainthatnightinamagazine,andyetagainthenextdayintheSunday
newspaper.
Then,beforehehadevolvedasatisfactoryexplanationinhisownmindofthis
phenomenon,heheardSusanBettstalkingwithMrs.McGuireoverthebackyardfence.
SusanBettsbegantheconversation.Butthatwasnothingstrange:SusanBetts
alwaysbegantheconversation.
“HaveyouheardaboutpooroldHarrington?”shedemandedinwhatKeith
calledher“excitingest”voice.Then,aswasalwaysthecasewhenshespokein
thatvoice,sheplungedonwithoutwaitingforareply,asiffearfullestherbitof
newsfallfromtheotherpairoflipsfirst.“Well,he’sblind—stoneblind.He
couldn’tseeadollarbill—notifyoushookitrightbeforehiseyes.”
“Sho!youdon’tsay!”Mrs.McGuiredroppedthewetsheetbackintothebasket

andcametothefenceonhersideconcernedly.“Now,ain’tthattoobad?”


“Yes,ain’tit?An’hesokind,an’nowsoblind!Itjestmakesmesick.”Susan
whippedopenthetwistedfoldsofawettowel.Susanseldomstoppedherwork
totalk.“ButIsawitcomin’longago.An’hedid,too,poorman!”
Mrs.McGuireliftedabonyhandtoherfaceandtuckedaflyingwispofhair
behindherrightear.
“Thenifhesawitcomin’,whycouldn’thedosomethin’tostopit?”she
demanded.
[Illustration:SUSANBETTSTALKINGWITHMRS.MCGUIREOVERTHE
BACKYARDFENCE]
“Idon’tknow.Buthecouldn’t.Dr.Chandlersaidhecouldn’t.An’theyhada
manupfromBoston—oneofthemeyesocialistswhatdoesn’tdoctoranythin’
buteyes—an’hesaidhecouldn’t.”
Keith,onhiskneesbeforethebeet-bedadjoiningtheclothes-yard,satbackon
hisheelsandeyedthetwowomenwithfrowninginterest.
HeknewoldMr.Harrington.Sodidalltheboys.Neverwasthereakiteoragun
orajack-knifesofargonethatUncleJoeHarringtoncouldnot“fixit”somehow.
Andhewasalwayssojollyaboutit,andsogladtodoit.Butittookeyestodo
suchthings,andifnowhewasgoingtobeblind—
“An’yousayit’sbeencomin’ongradual?”questionedMrs.McGuire.“Why,I
hadn’theard-”
“No,therehain’tnooneheard,”interruptedSusan.“Hedidn’tsaynothin’ter
nobody,hardly,onlyme,Iguess,an’Isuspicionedit,orhewouldn’t‘a’saiditto
me,probably.Yesee,Ifoundouthewa’n’treadin’‘em—thepapersMr.Burton
hasmetakeupterhimeveryweek.An’heownedup,whenItookhimtertask
forit,thathecouldn’tread‘em.Theywasgettin’allblurred.”
“Blurred?”Itwasastartledlittlecryfromtheboydownbythebeet-bed;but
neitherSusannorMrs.McGuireheard—perhapsbecauseatalmostthesame

momentMrs.McGuirehadexcitedlyaskedthesamequestion.
“Blurred?”shecried.


“Yes;allruntergetherlike—theprintin’,yeknow–-sohecouldn’ttelloneletter
fromt’other.‘Twa’n’tonlyalittleatfirst.Why,hethought‘twasjestsomethin’
thematterwiththeprintin’itself;an’—”
“AndWASN’TittheprintingatALL?”
Theboywasonhisfeetnow.Hisfacewasalittlewhiteandstrained-looking,as
heaskedthequestion.
“Why,no,dearie.Didn’tyouhearSusantellMis’McGuirejestnow?‘Twashis
EYES,an’hedidn’tknowit.Hewasgettin’blind,an’thatwasjestthe
beginnin’.”
Susan’scapablehandspickedupanotherwettowelandsnappeditopenbyway
ofemphasis.
“Theb-beginning?”stammeredtheboy.“But—butALLbeginningsdon’t—
don’tendlikethat,dothey?”
SusanBettslaughedindulgentlyandjammedtheclothespinalittledeeperonto
thetowel.
“Blessthechild!Won’tyehearthat,now?”shelaughedwithashrug.“An’how
shouldIknow?IguessifSusanBettscouldtelltheendofallthebeginnin’sas
soonasthey’rebegun,shewouldn’tbehangin’outyourdaddy’swashin’,my
boy.She’dbesittin’onaredvelvetsofawithagoldcupolaoverherheadachargin’fivedollarsapiecefortellin’yerfortune.Yes,sir,shewould!”
“But—butaboutUncleJoe,”persistedtheboy.“Can’thereallysee—atall,
Susan?”
“There,there,child,don’tthinkanythingmoreaboutit.Indeed,forsooth,I’m
tellin’thetruth,butIs’poseIhadn’toughtertolditbeforeyou.Still,you’d‘a’
founditoutquickenough—an’youwithyourtopsan’ballsalwaysrunnin’up
there.An’that’swhatthepoorsoulseemedtofeeltheworstabout,”shewenton,
addressingMrs.McGuire,whowasstillleaningonthedivisionfence.

“‘IfonlyIcouldseeenoughterhelptheboys!’hemoanedoveran’overagain.It
mademefeelawfulbad.IwasthatupsetIjestcouldn’tsleepthatnight,an’Ihad
tergetupan’write.Butitmadearealprettypoem.Myfusealwaysworksbetter


inthenight,anyhow.‘Thewailofthetoys’—that’swhatIcalledit—hadthe
toystellthestory,yeknow,allthekitesan’jack-knivesan’ballsan’batsthat
he’sfixedfortheboysalltheseyears,an’howbadtheyfeltbecausehecouldn’t
doitanymore.Likethis,yeknow:
‘Oh,woeisme,saidthebaseballbat,Oh,woeisme,saidthekite.’
‘Twasrealpretty,ifIdosayit,an’touchy,too.”
“Formercy’ssake,SusanBetts,ifyouain’tthegreatest!”ejaculatedMrs.
McGuire,withdisapprovingadmiration.“Ifyouwasdyin’Ibelieveyou’dstop
towriteapoemforyergravestone!”
SusanBettschuckledwickedly,buthervoicewasgravityitself.
“Oh,Iwouldn’thaveterdothat,Mis’McGuire.I’vegotthatdonealready.”
“SusanBetts,youhaven’t!”gaspedthescandalizedwomanontheothersideof
thefence.
“Haven’tI?Listen,”challengedSusanBetts,strikinganattitude.Herfacewas
abnormallygrave,thoughhereyesweremerry.
“HereliethawomanwhosenamewasBetts,An’Is’poseshe’lldeserve
whatevershegets;Butifshehadn’tbeenBettsshemight‘a’beenBetter,She
mightevenbeenBestifhernamewould‘a’lether.”
“Susan!”gaspedMrs.McGuireoncemore;butSusanonlychuckledagain
wickedly,andfelltoworkonherbasketofclothesingoodearnest.
Amomentlatershewasholdingupwithsterndisapprovaltwosockswith
gapingheels.
“KeithBurton,here’sthemscandaloussocksagain!Now,doyougotellyour
fatherthatIwon’ttouch‘em.Iwon’tmend‘emanotheronce.Hemustgetyoua
newpair—twonewpairs,rightaway.Doyouhear?”

ButKeithdidnothear.Keithwasnottheretohear.Stillwiththatstrained,white
lookonhisfacehehadhurriedoutoftheyardandthroughthegate.


Mrs.McGuire,however,didhear.
“Mystars,SusanBetts,it’sluckyyourbarkisworsethanyourbite!”she
exclaimed.“Mend‘em,indeed!Theywon’tbedrybeforeyou’vegotyour
darnin’eggin‘em.”
Susanlaughedruefully.Thenshesighed:—atarms’lengthshewasholdingup
anotherpairofyawningsocks.
“Iknowit.Andlookatthem,too,”shesnapped,ingrowingwrath.“Butwhat’sa
bodygoin’todo?Theboy’dgohalf-nakedbeforehisfatherwouldsenseit,with
hisnoseinthatpaint-box.Muchaseverashe’sgotsenseenoughterputonhis
ownclothes—andheWOULDN’TknowWHENterputonCLEANones,ifI
didn’tspread‘emoutforhim!”
“Iknowit.Toobad,toobad,”murmuredMrs.McGuire,withavirtuousshakeof
herhead.“An’hewithhisfinebringin’-up,an’nowtobesoshiftlessan’goodfor-nothin’,an’—”
ButSusanBettswasinterrupting,hereyesflashing.
“Ifyouplease,I’llthankyoutosaynomorelikethataboutmymaster,”shesaid
withdignity.“He’sneithershiftless,norgood-for-nothin’.Hischaracteris
unbleachable!He’sanartistan’ascholaran’agentleman,an’averysuperlative
man.It’sbecauseheknowssomuchthat—thathejesthain’tgotroomfor
commonthingslikeclothesan’holesinsocks.”
“Stuffan’nonsense!”retortedMrs.McGuirenettledinherturn.“IguessI’ve
knownDan’lBurtonaslongasyouhave;an’asforhisbein’yourmaster—he
can’tcallhissoulhisownwhenyou’rearound,an’youknowit.”
ButSusan,withadisdainfulsniff,pickeduphernowemptyclothes-basketand
marchedintothehouse.
DowntheroadKeithhadreachedtheturnandwasclimbingthehillthatledto
oldMr.Harrington’sshabbycottage.

Theboy’seyeswerefixedstraightahead.Asquirrelwhiskedhistailalluringly
fromthebushesattheleft,andarobintwitteredfromatreebranchontheright.
Buttheboyneithersawnorheard—andwhenbeforehadKeithBurtonfailedto


respondtoafurredorfeatheredchallengelikethat?
To-daytherewasanairofdoggeddeterminationabouteventhewayhesetone
footbeforetheother.Hehadtheairofonewhoseeshisgoalaheadandcannot
reachitsoonenough.YetwhenKeitharrivedatthesagging,opengatebefore
theHarringtoncottage,hestoppedshortasifthegatewereclosed;andhisnext
stepswereslowandhesitant.Walkingonthegrassattheedgeofthepathhe
madenosoundasheapproachedthestoop,onwhichsatanoldman.
Atthesteps,asatthegate,Keithstoppedandwaited,hisgazeonthemotionless
figureintherocking-chair.Theoldmansatwithhandsfoldedonhiscane-top,
hiseyesapparentlylookingstraightahead.
Slowlytheboyliftedhisrightarmandwaveditsoundlessly.Heliftedhisleft—
buttherewasnowavingflourish.Insteaditfellimpotentlyalmostbeforeitwas
lifted.Onthestooptheoldmanstillsatmotionless,hiseyesstillgazingstraight
ahead.
Againtheboyhesitated;then,withanelaboratelycarelessair,heshuffledhis
feetonthegravelwalkandcalledcheerfully:
“Hullo,UncleJoe.”
“Hullo!Oh,hullo!It’sKeithBurton,ain’tit?”
Theoldheadturnedwiththevagueindecisionofthenewlyblind,anda
tremblinghandthrustitselfaimlesslyforward.“ItISKeith—ain’tit?”
“Oh,yes,sir,I’mKeith.”
Theboy,withaquicklookabouthim,awkwardlyshooktheflutteringfingers—
Keithwasnotinthehabitofshakinghandswithpeople,leastofallwithUncle
JoeHarrington.Hesatdownthenonthestepattheoldman’sfeet.
“Whatdidyebringter-day,myboy?”askedthemaneagerly;thenwithaquick

changeofmanner,hesighed,“butI’mafraidIcan’tfixit,anyhow.”
“Oh,no,sir,youdon’thaveto.Ididn’tbringanythingtobemendedto-day.”
UnconsciouslyKeithhadraisedhisvoice.Hewasspeakingloudly,andvery
politely.


Theoldmanfellbackinhischair.Helookedrelieved,yetdisappointed.
“Oh,well,that’sallright,then.I’mglad.Thatis,ofcourse,ifIcouldhavefixed
itforyou—Hissentenceremainedunfinished.Aprofoundgloomsettledoverhis
countenance.
“ButIdidn’tbringanythingforyoutofix,”reiteratedtheboy,inayetlouder
tone.
“There,there,myboy,youdon’thavetoshout.”Theoldmanshifteduneasilyhi
hisseat.“Iain’tdeaf.I’monly—Isupposeyouknow,Keith,what’scometome
inmyoldage.”
“Yes,sir,I—Ido.”Theboyhitchedalittlenearertothetwoill-shodfeetonthe
floornearhim.“And—andIwantedtoaskyou.Yourshurtalot,didn’tthey?—I
mean,youreyes;they—theyached,didn’tthey,beforethey—theygot—blind?”
Hespokeeagerly,almosthopefully.
Theoldmanshookhishead.
“No,notmuch.Is’poseIoughttobethankfulIwassparedthat.”
Theboywethisdrylipsandswallowed.
“But,UncleJoe,‘mostalways,Iguess,when—whenfolksaregoingtobeblind,
they—theyDOache,don’tthey?”
Againtheoldmanstirredrestlessly.
“Idon’tknow.Ionlyknowabout—myself.”
“But—well,anyhow,itnevercomestillyou’reold—realold,doesit?”Keith’s
voicevibratedwithconfidencethistime.
“Old?Iain’tsoveryold.I’monlyseventy-five,”bridledHarringtonresentfully.
“Besidesanyhow,thedoctorsaidagedidn’thavenothin’terdowiththiskindof

blindness.Itcomesteryoungfolks,realyoungfolks,sometimes.”
“Oh-h!”Theboywethislipsandswallowedagainabitconvulsively.Witheyes
fearfulandquestioninghesearchedtheoldman’sface.Twiceheopenedhis


mouthasiftospeak;buteachtimehecloseditagainwiththewordsleftunsaid.
Then,withabreathlessrush,verymuchlikedesperation,heburstout:
“Butit’salwaysanawfullongtimecomin’,isn’tit?Blindnessis.It’syearsand
yearsbeforeitreallygetshere,isn’tit?”
“Hm-m;well,Ican’tsay.Icanonlyspeakformyself,Keith.”
“Yes,sir,Iknow,sir;andthat’swhatIwantedtoask—aboutyou,”plungedon
Keithfeverishly.“Whendidyounoticeitfirst,andwhatwasit?”
Theoldmandrewalongsigh.
“Why,Idon’tknowasIcantell,exactly.‘Twasquiteaspellcomin’on—Iknow
that;and’twasn’tmuchofanythingatfirst.‘TwasjustthatIcouldn’tseeter
readclearan’distinct.Itwasallsortofblurred.”
“Kindofruntogether?”JustabovehisbreathKeithaskedthequestion.
“Yes,that’sitexactly.An’Ithoughtsomethin’ailedmyglasses,an’soIgot
somenewones.An’Ithoughtatfirstmaybeithelped.Butitdidn’t.Thenitgot
sothat’twa’n’tonlytheprintin’terbooksan’papersthatwasblurred,but
ev’rythingalittlewaysoffwasinafog,like,an’Icouldn’tseeanythingreal
clearan’distinct.”
“Oh,butthings—otherthings—don’tlookamitefoggytome,”criedtheboy.
“‘Coursetheydon’t!Whyshouldthey?Theydidn’ttome—once,”retortedthe
manimpatiently.“Butnow—”Againheleftasentenceunfinished.
“Buthowsoondid—didyouget—allblind,afterthat?”stammeredtheboy,
breakingthelong,uncomfortablesilencethathadfollowedtheoldman’s
unfinishedsentence.
“Oh,fiveorsixmonths—maybemore.Idon’tknowexactly.Iknowitcame,
that’sall.Iguessif‘twasyouitwouldn’tmakenodifferenceHOWitcame,ifit

came,boy.”“N-no,ofcoursenot,”chatteredKeith,springingsuddenlytohis
feet.“ButIguessitisn’tcomingtome—ofcourse’tisn’tcomingtome!Well,
good-bye,UncleJoe,Igottogonow.Good-bye!”


Hespokefearlessly,blithely,andhischinwasataconfidenttilt.Heeven
whistledashewalkeddownthehill.Butinhisheart—inhisheartKeithknew
thatbesidehimthatveryminutestalkedthatshadowy,intangiblecreaturethat
haddoggedhisfootstepseversincehisfourteenthbirthday-giftfromhisfather;
andheknewitnowbyname—TheGreatTerror.


CHAPTERII
DAD
Keith’schinwasstillhighandhisgazestillstraightaheadwhenhereachedthe
footofHarringtonHill.Perhapsthatexplainedwhyhedidnotseethetwoyoung
missesonthefencebythesideoftheroaduntiladerisivelygleefulshoutcalled
hisattentiontotheirpresence.
“Well,KeithBurton,Ishouldliketoknowifyou’reblind!”challengedamerry
voice.
Theboyturnedwithastartsoviolentthatthegirlsgiggledagaingleefully.
“Dear,dear,didwescarehim?We’resosorry!”
Theboyflushedpainfully.Keithdidnotlikegirls—thatis,heSAIDhedidnot
likethem.Theymadehimconsciousofhishandsandfeet,andstiffenedhis
tonguesothatitwouldnotobeyhiswill.Theprettierthegirlswere,themore
acutewashisdiscomfiture.Particularly,therefore,didhedislikethesetwogirls
—theyweretheprettiestofthelot.TheywereMazieSanbornandherfriend
DorothyParkman.
Maziewasthedaughterofthetown’srichestmanufacturer,andDorothywasher
cousinfromChicago,whomadesuchlongvisitstoherEasternrelativesthatit

seemedsometimesalmostasifshewereasmuchofaHinsdalegirlaswas
Mazieherself.
To-dayMazie’sblueeyesandDorothy’sbrownoneswerefullofmischief.
“Well,whydon’tyousaysomething?Whydon’tyouapologize?”demanded
Mazie.
‘“Pol—pologize?Whatfor?”InhisembarrassedmiseryKeithresortedto
bravadoinvoiceandmanner.
“Why,forpassingusbyinthatimpertinentfashion,”returnedMazieloftily.“Do
youthinkthatisthewayladiesshouldbetreated?”(Maziewasthirteenand
Dorothyfourteen.)“Theidea!”


ForaminuteKeithstaredhelplessly,shiftingfromonefoottotheother.Then,
withaninarticulategrunt,heturnedaway.
ButMaziewasnottobesoeasilythwarted.Withamereflitofherhandshe
tossedasideascoreofyears,andbecameinstantlynothingmorethana
wheedlinglittlegirlcoaxingaplaymate.
“Aw,Keithie,don’tgetmad!Iwasonlyfooling.Say,tellme,HAVEyoubeen
uptoUncleJoeHarrington’s?”
BecauseMaziehadcaughthisarmandnowheldittightly,theboyperforce
cametoastop.
“Well,whatifIhave?”heresortedtobravadoagain.
“Andisheblind,honestly?”Mazie’svoicebecamehushedandawestruck.
“Uh-huh.”Theboynoddedhisheadwithelaborateunconcern,butheshiftedhis
feetuneasily.
“Andhecan’tseeathing—notathing?”breathedMazie.
“‘Coursehecan’t,ifhe’sblind!”Keithshowedirritationnow,andpullednottoo
gentlyatthearmstillheldinMazie’sfirmlittlefingers.
“Blind!Ugghh!”interposedMissDorothy,shudderingvisibly.“Oh,howcanyou
beartolookathim,KeithBurton?Icouldn’t!”

Asuddenwaveofredsurgedovertheboy’sface.Thenextinstantithadreceded,
leavingonlyawhite,strainedterror.
“Well,heain’ttoblameforit,ifheisblind,ishe?”chatteredtheboy,abit
incoherently.“Ifyou’reblindyou’reblind,andyoucan’thelpyourself.”And
withajerkhefreedhimselffromMazie’sgraspandhurrieddowntheroad
towardhome.
Butwhenhereachedthebendoftheroadheturnedandlookedback.Thetwo
girlshadreturnedtotheirperchonthefence,andweredeeplyabsorbedin
somethingoneofthemheldinherhand.


“Andshesaidshecouldn’tbear—tolookat‘em—iftheywereblind,”he
whispered.Then,wheelingabout,herandowntheroadasfastashecould.Nor
didhestoptillhehadenteredhisowngate.
“Well,KeithBurton,Ishouldliketoknowwhereyou’vebeen,”criedtheirate
voiceofSusanBettsfromthedoorway.
“Oh,justwalking.Why?”
“BecauseI’vebeenhuntin’andhuntin’foryou.
But,oh,dearme,You’reworse’naflea,Sowhat’stheuseoftalkin’?You
alwayssay,Asyoudidto-day,I’vejustbeenouta-walkin’!”
“Butwhatdidyouwantmefor?”
“Ididn’twantyou.Yourpawantedyou.But,then,forthatmatter,he’salways
wantin’you.Anytime,ifyoulookathimrealgoodan’hardenoughtogethis
attention,he’llstareaminute,an’thensay:‘Where’sKeith?’An’whenhegets
totheothershore,Isupposehe’lldoitallthemore.”
“Oh,no,hewon’t—notifit’stalkingpoetry.Fathernevertalkspoetry.What
makesyoutalkitsomuch,Susan?Nobodyelsedoes.”
Susanlaughedgood-humoredly.
“Lan’sakes,child,Idon’tknow,onlyIjestcan’thelpit.Why,everythinginside
ofmejestswingsalongtoaregulartune—kindofkeepstime,like.It’salways

beenso.Why,Keithie,boy,it’sbeenmyjoy—There,yousee—jestlikethat!I
didn’tknowthatwascomin’.Itjest—jestcame.That’sall.Icanmakearhyme
‘mostanytime.Oh,ofcourse,mostgenerally,whenIwriterealpoems,Ihaveto
sitdownwithapencilan’paper,an’write‘emout.It’sonlythespontaneous
combustionkindthatcomesallinaminute,withoutpredisposedthinkin’.Now,
runalongtoyourpa,child.Hewantsyou.He’sbeenfrettin’thelasthourfor
you,jestbecausehedidn’tknowexactlywhereyouwas.Goodnessme!Ionly
hopeI’llneverhavetolivewithhimifanythinghappenstoyou.”
Theboyhadcrossedtheroom;butwithhishandonthedoorknobheturned
sharply.


“W-whatdoyoumeanbythat?”
SusanBettsgaveadespairinggesture.
“Lan’sakes,child,howyoudoholdabodyup!ImeantwhatIsaid—thatI
didn’twantthejoboflivin’withyourpaifanythinghappenedtoyou.Youknow
aswellasIdothathethinksyou’retheveryaxlefortheearthtowhirl‘round
on.But,there,Idon’tknowasIwonder—jestyouleft,so!”
Theboyabandonedhispositionatthedoor,andcameclosetoSusanBetts’s
side.
“That’swhatI’vealwayswantedtoknow.Otherboyshavebrothersandsisters
and—amother.ButIcan’teverrememberanybodyonlydad.Wasn’tthereever
anyoneelse?”
SusanBettsdrewalongsigh.
“Thereweretwobrothers,buttheydiedbeforeyouwasborn.Thentherewas—
yourmother.”
“ButInever—knewher?”
“No,child.WhentheyopenedthedoorofHeaventoletyououtsheslippedin,
poorlamb.An’thenyouwasallyourfatherhadleft.Soofcoursehedoteson
you.Goodnessme,thereain’tnoendtothefinethingshe’sgoin’terhaveyoube

whenyougrowup.”
“Yes,Iknow.”Theboycaughthisbreathconvulsivelyandturnedaway.“Iguess
I’llgo—todad.”
Attheendofthehallupstairswasthestudio.Dadwouldprobablybethere.
Keithknewthat.Dadwasalwaysthere,whenhewasn’tsleepingoreating,or
outtrampingthroughthewoods.Hewouldbesittingbeforetheeaselnow
“puttering”overapicture,asSusancalledit.Susansaidhewasavery
“insufficient,uncapacious”man—butthatwaswhenshewasangryortriedwith
him.Sheneverletanyoneelsesaysuchthingsabouthim.
Still,dadWASverydifferentfromotherdads.Keithhadtoacknowledgethat—
tohimself.Otherboys’dadshadofficesandstoresandshopsandfactories


wheretheyworked,orelsetheyweredoctorsorministers;andtherewasalways
moneytogetthingswith—thingsthatboysneeded;shoesandstockingsandnew
clothes,andcandyandbaseballbatsandkitesandjack-knives.
Daddidn’thaveanythingbutastudio,andthereneverseemedtobemuch
money.Whattherewas,wasan“annual,”Susansaid,whateverthatwas.
Anyway,whateveritwas,itwastoosmall,andnotnearlylargeenoughtocover
expenses.Susanhadanawfultimetogetenoughtobuytheirfoodwith
sometimes.Shewasalwaystellingdadthatshe’dGOTtohavealittletobuy
eggsorbutterormeatwith.
Andtherewereherwages—dadwasalwaysbehindonthose.Andwhenthebills
cameinatthefirstofthemonth,itwasalwaysawfulthen:dadworriedand
frowningandunhappyandapologeticandexplaining;Susancrossandhalfcrying.Strangemen,notoverpleasant-looking,ringingthedoorbell
peremptorily.Andneveraplaceatallwhereaboymightfeelcomfortableto
stay.Dadwasalwaystalkingthen,especially,howhewassurehewasgoingto
sellTHISpicture.Butheneversoldit.Atleast,Keithneverknewhimto.And
afterawhilehewouldbeginanewpicture,andbeSUREhewasgoingtosell
THAT.

Butnotonlywasdaddifferentfromotherboys’dads,butthehousewas
different.Firstitwasveryold,andfullofveryoldfurnitureanddishes.Then
blindsandwindowsandlocksanddoorswerealwaysgettingoutoforder;and
theywereapttoremainso,fortherewasneveranymoneytofixthingswith.
Therewasalsoamortgageonthehouse.Thatis,Susansaidtherewas;andby
thewayshesaidit,itwouldseemtobesomethingnotatallattractiveor
desirable.Justwhatamortgagewas,Keithdidnotexactlyunderstand;but,for
thatmatter,quiteprobablySusanherselfdidnot.Susanalwayslikedtousebig
words,andsomeofthemshedidnotalwaysknowthemeaningof,dadsaid.
To-day,inthehallway,Keithstoodahesitantminutebeforehisfather’sdoor.
Thenslowlyhepusheditopen.
“Didyouwantme,dad?”heasked.
Themanattheeaselsprangtohisfeet.Hewasatall,slenderman,withfinely
cutfeaturesandapointed,blondbeard.Susanhadoncedescribedhimas“an
awfullynicemantotakecareof,butnotworthacentwhenitcomestotakin’


careofyou.”Yettherewaseveryevidenceoflovingprotectioninthearmhe
threwaroundhisboyjustnow.
“Wantyou?Ialwayswantyou!”hecriedaffectionately.“Look!Doyou
rememberthatmosswebroughthomeyesterday?Well,I’vegotitstwinnow.”
Triumphantlyhepointedtothelowerleft-handcornerofthepictureontheeasel,
wherewasacarefullyblendedmassofgreensandbrowns.
“Oh,yes,why,so’tis.”(Keithhadlongsincelearnedtoseeinhisfather’s
pictureswhathisfathersaw.)“Say,dad,Iwish’tyou’dtellmeabout—mylittle
brothers.Won’tyou,please?”
“And,Keith,look—doyourecognizethatlittlepath?It’stheonewesaw
yesterday.I’mgoingtocallthispicture‘TheWoodlandPath’—andIthinkit’s
goingtobeabouttheverybestthingIeverdid.”
Keithwasnotsurprisedthathisquestionhadbeenturnedaside:questionsthat

hisfatherdidnotliketoanswerwerealwaysturnedaside.UsuallyKeith
submittedwithwhatgracehecouldmuster;butto-dayhewasinapersistent
moodthatwouldnotbedenied.
“Dad,WHYwon’tyoutellmeaboutmybrothers?Please,whatweretheir
names,andhowoldwerethey,andwhydidtheydie?”
[Illustration:“Wantyou?Ialwayswantyou!”]
“Godknowswhytheydied—Idon’t!”Theman’sarmabouttheboy’sshoulder
tightenedconvulsively.
“Buthowoldwerethey?”
“NedwassevenandJerrywasfour,andtheywerethelightofmyeyes,and—
Butwhydoyoumakemetellyou?Isn’titenough,Keith,thattheywent,one
aftertheother,nottwodaysapart?Andthenthesunwentoutandlefttheworld
grayandcoldandcheerless,forthenextday—yourmotherwent.”
“Andhowaboutme,dad?”
Themandidnotseemtohaveheard.Stillwithhisarmabouttheboy’sshoulder,
hehaddroppedbackintotheseatbeforetheeasel.Hiseyesnowweresomberly


fixedoutthewindow.
“Wasn’tI—anywhere,dad?”
Withastartthemanturned.Hisarmtightenedagain.Hiseyesgrewmoistand
verytender.
“Anywhere?You’reeverywherenow,myboy.I’mafraid,atthefirst,thevery
first,Ididn’tliketoseeyouverywell,perhapsbecauseyouwereALLtherewas
left.Then,littlebylittle,Ifoundyouwerelookingatmewithyourmother’s
eyes,andtouchingmewiththefingersofNedandJerry.Andnow—why,boy,
you’reeverything.You’reNedandJerryandyourmotherallinone,myboy,my
boy!”
Keithstirredrestlessly.Ahorribletightnesscametohisthroat,yettherewasa
biglumpthatmustbeswallowed.

“Er—that—thatWoodlandPathpictureisgoingtobegreat,dad,great!”hesaid
then,inaveryloud,thoughslightlyhusky,voice.“Comeon,let’s–”
FromthehallSusan’svoiceinterrupted,chantinginahigh-pitchedsingsong:
“Dinner’sready,dinner’sready,Hurryup,oryou’llbelate,Thenyou’llsure
becrossandheadyIfthere’snothin’lefttoate.”
Keithgavearelievedwhoopandboundedtowardthedoor.NeverhadSusan’s
“dinner-bell”beenamorewelcomesound.Surely,atdinner,histhroatwould
havetoloosenup,andthatlumpcouldthenbeswallowed.
MoreslowlyKeith’sfatherrosefromhischair.
“HowimpossibleSusanis,”hesighed.“Ibelieveshegrowsworseeveryday.
StillIsupposeIoughttobethankfulshe’sgood-natured—whichthatabsurd
doggerelofhersprovesthatsheis.However,Ishouldliketoputastoptoit.I
declare,IbelieveIwillputastoptoit,too!I’mgoingtoinsistonher
announcinghermealsinapropermanner.Oh,Susan,”hebeganresolutely,ashe
flungopenthediningroomdoor.
“Well,sir?”Susanstoodatattention,herarmsakimbo.


“Susan,I—Iinsist—thatis,Iwish–”
“Youwassayin’—”sheremindedhimcoldly,ashecametoahelplesspause.
“Yes.Thatis,Iwassaying—”Hiseyeswaveredandfelltothetable.“Oh,hash
—red-flannelhash!That’sfine,Susan!”
ButSusanwasnottobecajoled.Hereyesstillregardedhimcoldly.
“Yes,sir,hash.Wemostgenerallydoeshavebeethashafterb’ileddinner,sir.
Youwassayin’?”
“Nothing,Susan,nothing.I—I’vechangedmymind,”murmuredtheman
hastily,pullingouthischair.“Well,Keith,willyouhavesomeofSusan’snice
hash?”
“Yes,sir,”saidKeith.
Susansaidnothing.Butwasthereaquietsmileonherlipsasshelefttheroom?

Ifso,neitherthemannortheboyseemedtonoticeit.
Asfortheveryobviouschangeofattitudeonthepartoftheman—Keithhad
witnessedalikephenomenonaltogethertoooftentogiveitasecondthought.
Andasforthedoggerelthathadbroughtaboutthesituation—that,also,wastoo
familiartocausecomment.
IthadbeenyearssinceSusanfirstcalledthemtodinnerwithher“poem”;but
Keithcouldrememberjusthowpleasedshehadbeen,andhowgaylyshehad
repeateditoverandover,soasnottoforgetit.
“Oh,ofcourseIknowthat‘ate’ain’tgoodetiquetteinthatplace,”shehad
admittedatthetime.“Itshouldbe‘eat.’But‘eat’don’trhyme,an’‘ate’does.So
I’mgoin’touseit.An’Ican,anyhow.It’spoemlicense;an’that’llletyoudo
anything.”
Sincethenshehadusedtheverseforeverymeal—exceptwhenshewasoutof
temper—andbysubstitutingbreakfastorsupperfordinner,shehadacallthat
wasconvenientlyuniversal.
ThefactthatsheuseditONLYwhenshewasgood-naturedconstitutedan


unfailingbarometeroftheatmosphericconditionofthekitchen,andwasreally,
inaway,nosmallconvenience—especiallyforlittleboysinquestofcookiesor
bread-and-jam.Asforthemasterofthehouse—thiswasnotthefirsttimehehad
threatenedanenergeticwarfareagainstthat“absurddoggerel”(whichhehad
cordiallyabhorredfromtheveryfirst);neitherwoulditprobablybethelasttime
thatSusan’scalm“Well,sir?”shouldsendhimintoignominiousdefeatbefore
thebattlewasevenbegun.And,really,afterallwassaidanddone,therewasstill
thatoneunfailingrefugeforhisdiscomfortedrecollection:hecouldbethankful,
whenheheardit,thatshewasgood-natured;andwithSusanthatwasnosmall
thingtobethankfulfor,aseverybodyknew—whoknewSusan.
To-day,therefore,thedefeatwasnotsobitterastotakeallthesweetnessoutof
the“red-flannel”hash,andthefrownonDanielBurton’sfacewasquitegone

whenSusanbroughtinthedessert.Nordiditreturnthatnight,evenwhen
Susan’sshrillvoicecaroledthroughthehall:
“Supper’sready,supper’sready,Hurryup,oryou’llbelate,Thenyou’llsure
becrossandheadyIfthere’snothin’lefttoate.”


CHAPTERIII
FORJERRYANDNED
ItwasSusanBettswhodiscoveredthatKeithwasnotreadingsomuchthat
summer.
“An’himwithhisnosealwaysinabookbefore,”asshesaidonedaytoMrs.
McGuire.“An’hedon’tactnatural,somehow,neither,termywayofthinkin’.
HaveYOUnoticedanything?”
“Why,no,Idon’tknowasIhave,”answeredMrs.McGuirefromtheotherside
ofthefence,“exceptthathe’salwaystraipsin’offtothewoodswithhisfather.
Butthen,he’salwaysdonethat,moreorless.”
“Indeedhehas!Butalwaysbeforehe’sluggedalongabook,sometimestwo;an’
now—whyhehain’tevenreadthebookhisfathergivehimonhisbirthday.I
know,‘causeIaskedhimonedaywhat‘twasabout,an’hesaidhedidn’tknow;
hehadn’treadit.”
“Dearyme,Susan!Well,whatifhehadn’t?Ishouldn’tfretaboutthat.My
gracious,Susan,ifyouhadfourchildrensameasIhave,insteadofone,Iguess
youwouldn’tdonoworryin’jestbecauseaboydidn’treadabook.Though,as
formyJohn,he–”
Susanliftedherchin.
“Iwasn’ttalkin’aboutyourchildren,Mis’McGuire,”sheinterrupted.“An’I
reckonnobody’ddonoworryin’iftheydidn’tread.ButMasterKeithisa
differentsuppositionentirely.He’sveryintelligible,MasterKeithis,andsois
hisfatherbeforehim.Booksisfoodtothem—realfood.Hain’tyoueverheard
offolksdevourin’books?Well,theydoit.OfcourseIdon’tmeanliteraryly,but

metaphysically.”
“Oh,lando’love,SusanBetts!”criedMrs.McGuire,throwingupbothhands
andturningawayscornfully.“Ofcourse,whenyougettotalkin’likethat,
NOBODYcansayanythingtoyou!HoweverintheworldthatpoorMr.Burton
putsupwithyou,Idon’tsee.Iwouldn’t—notaday—notasingleday!”Andby


wayofemphasissheenteredherhouseandshutthedoorwithaslam.
SusanBetts,leftalone,shruggedhershouldersdisdainfully.
“Well,‘nobodyaskedyou,sir,shesaid,’”shequoted,underherbreath,and
slammedherdoor,also,bywayofemphasis.
YetbothSusanandMrs.McGuireknewverywellthatthenextdaywouldfind
themagainintheusualfriendlyintercourseovertheback-yardfence.
SusanBettswasaneighbor’sdaughter.Shehadlivedallherlifeinthetown,and
shekneweverybody.JustbecauseshehappenedtoworkinDanielBurton’s
kitchenwasnoreason,tohermind,whysheshouldnotbeallowedtoexpress
heropinionfreelyonalloccasions,andonallsubjects,andtoallpersons.Such
beingherconvictionsheconductedherselfaccordingly.AndSusanalwayslived
uptoherconvictions.
Inthekitchento-dayshefoundKeith.
“Oh,Isay,Susan,Iwaslookingforyou.Dadwantsyou.”
“Whatfor?”
“Idon’tknow;butIGUESSit’sbecausehewantstohavesomethingbesides
beansandcodfishandfish-hashtoeat.Anyhow,heSAIDhewasgoingtospeak
toyouaboutit.”
Susanstiffenedintoinexorablesternness.
“Sohe’sgoin’terspeakterme,ishe?Well,‘twillbemightylittlegoodthat’ll
do,asheoughttoknowverywell.Beefsteaksan’roastfowlscostmoney.Has
hegotthemoneyforme?”
Withoutwaitingforananswertoherquestion,shestrodethroughthedoor

leadingtothediningroomandshutitcrisplybehindher.
Theboydidnotfollowher.Alone,inthekitchenhedrummedidlyonthe
window-pane,watchingthefirstfewdropsofashowerthathadbeendarkening
theskyforanhourpast.