College teachers -- Fiction; Interpersonal relations -- Fiction; United States -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction
She began also to anticipate the moment when she must begin to
discipline him, and to dread the various forms of infant crime for which
she searched her mind. Presently he would cease to obey promptly; he
would refuse to put his toys away neatly on the low shelf of the
cupboard assigned to him; he would stamp and scream like other naughty
little boys. He might, alas, take pennies from her pocketbook. Then
there would be the fondness for tobacco and playing-cards on whose
account he would have to be struggled with and possibly whipped. She had
never been whipped, and she had good reason to doubt the efficacy of
whipping, but she would not allow her own observation to contradict
Biblical injunction. No one but herself, however, should lay hand or
switch upon Richard, hideous as such necessity would be to her.
But Richard needed no whipping and his mother could decide upon no
moment when the discipline, to which she had given so many hours of
anxious thought, should begin. He continued, up to and long past the age
of five, to be the most biddable little child that ever lived, satisfied
with what he had, requiring no other companionship than that of his
father and mother and 'Manda, playing a great deal by himself, and never
screaming or stamping or taking pennies from pocketbooks. He liked, as
he grew older, to have little Cora Scott come to play with him, but to
the Scotts he would not go without his mother, having a wholly
justifiable fear of Walter.
He was allowed each pleasant morning in summer to cross the broad,
grassy field back of the campus to a little stream, tin bait-can,
fishing-rod, and package of lunch in hand, and a great old straw hat of
his father's on his head. As he sat and fished, 'Manda could watch him
from the kitchen window and his mother could gloat over him from a
window above. Even Dr. Lister left his work once an hour to see how he
fared. If it were a baking morning 'Manda would go down with a fresh
patty-cake or a handful of cookies.
Luck was always poor with Richard, probably because he sang constantly
while he fished. His repertoire was composed of hymns and songs of a
rather solemn cast. He was particularly fond of the lengthy liturgical
service of the church, and prayed the Lord a hundred times in a morning
to have mercy upon him. The fervor with which he expressed this plea
frightened his mother, who feared that such intense emotion indicated a
spirit not long for this world.
Sometimes in the evenings he and 'Manda held a concert at the kitchen
door, 'Manda in her rocking-chair on the porch, Richard on the lowest
step, hands on knees, eyes gazing upon the meadow with its shadowy trees
and its myriad fireflies or looking up at the stars. 'Manda was loath to
leave upon such occasions and sat long after the hour when she was
usually in the colored settlement.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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