THE STUMP
My grandmother looked at the tree. Her eyes were full of tears again, but they weren't the kind that worried me. She held out a hand toward the tree and said some more poetry:
“What plant we in this apple tree?
Buds, which the breath of summer days
Shall lengthen into leafy sprays;
Boughs, where the thrush with crimson breast
Shall haunt and sing and hide her nest.
We plant upon the sunny lea
A shadow for the noontide hour,
A shelter from the summer shower,
When we plant the apple tree.”
Well, it wasn't an apple tree, but I didn't care, and neither did Swatty or Bony. I was just glad because Ladylove was glad, and I guessed she knew it wasn't an apple tree, because when you use poetry you have to use the kind there is, and it don't always fit. But this one fitted close enough to show how happy Ladylove was. She was very happy, and when she had said the verses she laughed and kissed Swatty's hand, and then Bony's and then mine, and took her skirt in two hands and made us a curtsy and went away as happy as anything. I felt pretty good.
So just then my father came home, because it was supper-time. He came into the yard, and he walked across the grass to where we were. He looked sort of sober, the way fathers do when they want to know what their sons have been doing.
“What's that?” he asked, short.
“It's a capstan,” I said. “Me and Bony and Swatty made it.”
“What are you going to do with it?”
“I don't know. Maybe nothing.”
“Hm! And what is this tree doing here?”
“Why—” I said, and then I didn't know what to say.
“Why, there was an old stump here,” said Swatty, “and we pulled it up with the capstan, and Ladylove, she came out, and she felt pretty bad—” “She couldn't remember it wasn't a tree #ny more,” said Bony.
“And so we went and got a tree and planted it for her,” I said.
My father looked at me. Then he turned away. “Don't do any damage with that capstan thing,” he said, and that was all.
Well, nobody said anything at supper, so after supper I went out and sat on the porch, and Herb Schwartz had come over to talk with Fan awhile and they were there too. So pretty soon my father came out and lighted a cigar and gave Herb one. Then my mother came out and I guessed I would go into the back yard or somewhere, because I knew she would tell my father about what Mrs. Martin had lied about me hurting her crazy boy. So I went and sat on the woodshed step awhile, because if my father was going to lick me he would do it out there anyway.
But he didn't come, so after a while I went around front again. I stopped by the vines at the end of the porch, because my father was talking.
“And I will tell you something else,” he was saying. So he told them about the stump, and how we had pulled it up and then gone and got another tree because Ladylove felt so bad about it. “And Mrs. Martin nor any one else need tell me that a boy that would do that would torment a crippled child,” my father said. “I think I know my son George fairly well. What did George say about it?”
“He said Mrs. Martin—lied,” said my mother. “And she probably did,” said my father. “Unintentionally but none the less wickedly. I am going to see her. I think she is going to apologize.”
So I felt bully about that, and my father went down the walk and mother went into the house. I felt bully because father was right. Only I was n't the one that thought of planting the new tree. That was Swatty. But I guess I'd have thought of it if Swatty hadn't.
I was just going to go up on the porch when Fan said something. What she said was:
“Poor father! The way he lets Georgie behave and then stands up for him!”
“Why, Fan,” Herb said, “you don't think George did anything of the sort Mrs. Martin said, do you?”
“I wouldn't put it beyond him,” Fan said.
“That's not fair! That's unjust!” Herb said.
“Oh! I'm unfair, am I? I'm unjust, am I?” Fan flared up.
“You are if you say such things about George,” Herb said, and he said it out flat, too, as if he meant it.
“Oh!” Fan said. “The last time I was jealous. Now I am unjust! I'm sure I thank you for your opinion of me—”
“And, now, Frances,” said Herb, standing up because Fan was, “you are unfair and unjust to me. Either that or frivolous.”
“Oh!” Fan cried out and she slung something on the porch that bounced and rolled. It came through the vines and to where I was, and I picked it up. It was her engagement ring, but she didn't care where it went, because she went slamming into the house, and Herb went stamping to the gate and out of the yard.
So I stood there and looked at the ring and felt pretty sick, because it was just because Herb thought I wasn't a liar and a mean cripple-torturer that he had stood up for me. And, just because I was n't, his wedding was off again and nobody could tell when me and Swatty would get his tricycle.