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Updated: April 30, 2025
I took your Hobo piece to Dr. Barrus and she read it to Miss C and me, they were both delighted with it, even enthusiastic. Forest and Stream has returned your piece. I enclose their letter. I have read the paper. It is not anywhere near as good as your Hobo sketch has not the same sparkle, buoyancy, and go. You can make it better.
Here the little boy always listened at his wrist to know if his pulse rattled yet, and felt glad indeed that he was a Presbyterian, instead of being in that dreadful place with Jews and Papists and Milo Barrus, who spelled God with a little g. As to his own performance, Clytie found that he memorised prose with great difficulty.
The little boy, however, rather hoped Milo Barrus wouldn't come to the Feet. It was more worth while going to Heaven if he didn't, and if you could look down and see him after it was too late for him to come. During church that morning he chiefly wondered about the Feet.
Gradually he began to have an inkling of a possibility that made his blood icy a possibility that not even the spectacle of Milo Barrus having interesting things done to him could mitigate namely, a vision of himself in the same plight with that person. Now it was that he began to hear Them all about him. They walked stealthily near, passed him with sinister rustlings, and whispered over him.
Did the little boy believe, for example, that Milo Barrus did it? He was the village atheist, and so bad a man that he loved to spell God with a little g. He mused upon this while his tears dried, finding it plausible. Of course it couldn't be Milo Barrus, so it must be Santa Claus. Was Clytie certain some presents would be there in the morning? If he went directly to sleep, she was.
To Clytie he once said, of something for which he was about to ask her permission, "Oh, it must be awful, awful wicked because I want to do it very, very much! not like, going to church." Yet the ascetic life was not devoid of compensation particularly when Milo Barrus, the village atheist, was pointed out to him among the care-free Sabbath loafers.
Does it fall back again into nature as the wave falls back into the ocean, to be gathered up and focussed in other minds? During Mother's last illness she was tenderly cared for by an old friend of the family, Dr. Clara Barrus, who then took up the burden of caring for Father, not only safeguarding his health, but helping him in his literary work as well.
But if it came on the very last day of vacation, or on the first morning of school, just as he was called on to recite, snatching him from the very jaws of the Moloch, and if it fixed him so he need not be afraid in the night of going where Milo Barrus was going, then it might not be so bad.
It was a foot larger than his whole body, and he had passed eager, questioning hands over its whole surface, pressing it from heel to each perfect toe. Of course, this must be one of the Feet to which Milo Barrus might come; he wondered if the other would be up that dark stairway, and if Milo Barrus would go up to look for it and what did you have to do when you got to the Feet?
The little boy afterward saw his perfect father hand these very tracts to Milo Barrus, when they met him on the street, saying, "Here, Barrus, get your soul saved while you wait!" Then they laughed together. The little boy wondered if this meant that Milo Barrus had come to the Feet, or been born again, or something. Or if it meant that his father also spelled God with a little g.
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