The English tyrant not appearing, I took them into the house and, after a
washing of hands and faces, gave the boys the usual eleven o'clock lunch
of milk and simple cookies to take out in the sun to eat. As they were
thus engaged the tyrant appeared on the horizon, horror written in every
feature, and a volley of correction evidently taking shape on her lips,
while an ugly look of cowed defiance spread itself over the child's face
as he caught sight of her.
There was no scene, however. Father said in the most offhand way, as if
being obeyed was a matter of course, "Go back and tell your mistress that
I am carrying out her request, and that after luncheon I will send the
boy safely home, with a written message."
"But his medicines, his hour's rest alone in the dark, his special
food,--the medical man in New York said--" protested the woman,
completely taken aback.
"You heard my message?" said father, cheerfully, and that was all.
"What are you going to advise?" I asked, as in the middle of the
afternoon father came from his office, where he had given the lad a
thorough inspection.
"Simply to turn him loose in light woollen clothes, give him companions
of his age, and let him alone."
"Can't you word it differently?" I asked.
"Why, is not that fairly direct?" he replied, looking surprised; "and
surely the direct method is almost always the best."
"I think this is the one case where it is not, dear old Daddy.
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