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It takes the pure love of noise, and trains it to pitches, harmonies, intervals, and makes a musician of the boy who used to whack his spoon. It takes the alphabet and the early pothooks, and the boy by and by combines them into literature. The apples and the peaches which he is taught to exchange justly are by and by transmuted into trade and commerce.
"Suppose it was a boy twice your size?" "Just let him try," said Penrod ominously. "You just let him try. He'd never see daylight again; that's all!"
Despoiled of all its wealth, its houses torn down, its boats captured and all its people enslaved, what likelihood was there that they might ever again hear of the desolated island? So the people of Regos and Coregos were surprised and puzzled when one morning they observed approaching their shores from the direction of the south a black boat containing a boy, a fat man and a goat.
"Eggs!" responded Jim crisply. "I happened to be on it at the time, my boy, and your sense of humor I hope you all got what I did! But I must explain to Aunt Emmy here, or she will think that we are both quite mad!" "And I must be off to the club," Jack announced. "I'll break the news to Billy Hollis that we've lost. See you later, and we'll all settle up. Good evening, Mrs. Abbott."
Heath stood between him and elucidation, and the more firmly the clergyman held his ground, and the more definitely he blocked the path, the more sure Hartley became that he did so of set purpose. "But why, why?" he asked himself, as he drove through the Cantonment towards Mrs. Wilder's bungalow. Atkins got off his bicycle and handed it over to his boy as he arrived at the dreary entrance.
The boy accepted readily, and the two were starting off arm in arm when Mr Durfy confronted them. Reginald, who had never met his adversary beyond the precincts of the Rocket before, did not for a moment recognise the vulgar, loudly dressed little man, sucking his big cigar and wearing his pot hat ostentatiously on one side; but when he did he turned contemptuously aside and said,
Tell my wife I'll just spend the night with Judge Fowler, an' git back in time for court in Belcher's sto' in the mornin'. An', Bob, you just stop by Mrs. Allen's she's guardian of the boy an' tell her I say to bring him to Belcher's sto' to-morrow mornin' at nine. You be there, too, Mr. Thornycroft an, by the way, bring that block of wood you been talkin' about."
I was born in that little town, and bred up amid the memories of that day. When a boy, my mother lifted me up, on Sunday, in her religious, patriotic arms, and held me while I read the first monumental line I ever saw "Sacred to Liberty and the Rights of Mankind."
The props were unnecessary. Rickie had his own equilibrium. Neither the Revivalism that assails a boy at about the age of fifteen, nor the scepticism that meets him five years later, could sway him from his allegiance to the church into which he had been born. But his equilibrium was personal, and the secret of it useless to others. He desired that each man should find his own.
But my conviction that the boy had good stuff in him was deepened on the morrow, when, banishing books, I took him for a breather over hill and dale, through wood and underbrush, three miles out and three miles in. I told him stories as we walked and showed him how the Indians trailed their game among the very hills over which we plodded.
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