Didactic fiction; Dogs -- Fiction; Fantasy fiction
A little word, Daddy, but one of the most potent, he was thinking.
More than a word, perhaps: a great social engine: an anchor which, cast
carelessly overboard, sinks deep and fast into the very bottom. The
vessel rides on her hawser, and where are your blue horizons then?
But come now, isn't one horizon as good as another? And do they really
remain blue when you reach them?
Unconsciously he stirred, stretching his legs deeply into the
comfortable nest of his couch. The springs twanged. Simultaneous
clamours! The puppies were awake.
They yelled to be let out from the cribs. This was the time of the
morning frolic. Gissing had learned that there is only one way to deal
with the almost inexhaustible energy of childhood. That is, not to
attempt to check it, but to encourage and draw it out. To start the day
with a rush, stimulating every possible outlet of zeal; meanwhile taking
things as calmly and quietly as possible himself, sitting often to take
the weight off his legs, and allowing the youngsters to wear themselves
down. This, after all, is Nature's own way with man; it is the wise
parent's tactic with children. Thus, by dusk, the puppies will have run
themselves almost into a stupor; and you, if you have shrewdly husbanded
your strength, may have still a little power in reserve for reading and
smoking.
The before-breakfast game was conducted on regular routine. Children
show their membership in the species by their love of strict habit.
Gissing let them yell for a few moments--as long as he thought the
neighbours would endure it--while he gradually gathered strength and
resolution, shook off the cowardice of bed. Then he strode into the
nursery. As soon as they heard him raising the shades there was complete
silence. They hastened to pull the blankets over themselves, and lay
tense, faces on paws, with bright expectant upward eyes. They trembled a
little with impatience. It was all he could do to restrain himself from
patting the sleek heads, which always seemed to shine with extra
polish after a night's rolling to and fro on the flattened pillows. But
sternness was a part of the game at this moment. He solemnly unlatched
and lowered the tall sides of the cribs.
He stood in the middle of the room, with a gesture of command. “Quiet
now,” he said. “Quiet, until I tell you!”
Yelpers could not help a small whine of intense emotion, which slipped
out unintended. The eyes of Groups and Bunks swivelled angrily toward
their unlucky brother. It was his failing: in crises he always emitted
haphazard sounds. But this time Gissing, with lenient forgiveness,
pretended not to have heard.
He returned to the balcony, and reentered his couch, where he lay
feigning sleep. In the nursery was a terrific stillness.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account