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Finally he had to acknowledge himself defeated. He then bore the dishonor of kilts with what manfulness he could and with a creed which was recited something like this: "We don't care to play with Mitch any more, do we, Mother?" Or again: "We don't care nothing about trouvers, do we, Mother?" Sometimes David would ask with husky heroism: "Curls is all right for little boys, is they not?"
He actually kept a father, and the father gave him fine presents. Reflecting upon all this, David became a very quiet little boy. There seemed to be nothing interesting for him to do. He had no appetite for supper, and in his face was the look of one who dreams of such mighty things as trouvers, and a hair-cut, and a brand-new knife.
It was this that she had seen at a glance, and it was this that she had taken deeply to heart, but now she diligently tried to enter into the spirit of trouvers. All of a sudden the earnest look in David's face was swept away by a smile. His little legs began to dance; his hands danced, and his piping laughter danced best of all.
If they wanted to arrest him for having it, that would be all right, but they should not get hold of his Indian bow 'n' arrow. The thing you liked about Mitch was that he was so reasonable. One's faith in him would never be shaken unless one were to try his recipe for getting trouvers. In theory it was a sound recipe.
Only David did not have a brick. What he did have was a confused feeling that Mitch was right. For might it not be true, this horrible thing about being a girl? What if David was that, and couldn't ever get over it? Now, Mitch, since you are at last in trouvers, here is the time to prove to this ignominious comrade of yours that in you are the instincts of a gentleman.
The touch of curls upon her cheek she would not feel any more. They were gone, and that baby of hers was gone. When he presently awoke, his greeting was characteristic of his altered condition. He did not call to her, he did not crow with laughter of good feeling and fine health. He merely sat up and solemnly whispered: "Trouvers!" Mother assured him that they were not a dream.
The glory of being in the Doctor's house; the glory of sitting at table in an ordinary chair; the glory of a hair-cut, and even the glory of trouvers each of these mighty events was now shorn of its charm. Everything had grown sadly commonplace; for there can be no satisfaction in achieving greatness, if one is so soon to be forgotten.
She waited, but David did not move. He said nothing. It was as though he had grown suddenly deaf. "You had a fine time yesterday, didn't you?" she asked, but David did not reply. He flattened himself against the wall. And Mother added: "It was great fun, wasn't it? to go to the barber shop with Doctor and afterward to get trouvers?"
David did not answer the question; perhaps he did not hear what was said to him. A thoughtful look had come into his face, and presently he was asking, with great earnestness in his voice: "Why have I got curls for? Why don't I have trouvers? Why don't I have warts on me?" Dr. Redfield was walking hand in hand with the little boy at his side.
So, as Mitch came nearer and nearer, David felt guiltier and guiltier, and presently he was surprised to hear himself asking rather abjectly: "You isn't mad at me, is you, Mitch?" Trouvers ignored the humble salutation. He took out his knife and began to whittle ceremoniously upon the stick. "What you making?" David asked tentatively.
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