"What would you do to the Germans who committed atrocities in Belgium?" I asked. Peter's hand went up with the others.
"Well, Peter?"
"Please sir, shoot them."
"Cruelty should be punished, eh?" I said.
"Yes, sir."
"Then come here, you dirty dog!" I cried, and I whacked Peter with a fierce joy.
I have often wondered at the strain of cruelty that is so often found in boys. The evolutionists must be right: the young always tend to resemble their remote ancestors. In a boy there is much of the brute. I have seen a boy cut off the heads of a nest of young sparrows; I wanted to hit him ... but he was bigger than I. This morning I was bigger than Peter; hence I do not take any credit to myself for welting him.
I can see that cruelty does not disappear with youth. I confess to a feeling of unholy joy in leathering Peter, but I think that it was caused by a real indignation.
What made Peter hurt the poor wee thing I cannot tell. I am inclined to think that he acted subconsciously; he was being the elemental hunter, and he did not realise that he was giving pain. I ought to have talked to him, to have made him realise. But I became elemental also; I punished with no definite motive ... and I would do it again.
* * *