Two little boys lived at a small farmhouse on the outskirts of a Cotswold village. One evening the grey homestead with its deep stone-slatted roof was all aglow in the sunset, the latticed windows blazing like so many separate suns, while beneath them chrysanthemums—yellow, red, and white—added their brilliance to the picture. Close by an immense elm tree shone in the golden glory of its autumn robe. Beneath it on an old dry wall the two little boys were perched just where some of the stones had been knocked away. One was sitting astride, the other faced the road with his two little brown legs dangling side by side.
The boys seemed much the same age, and to the eyes of a lady who was passing by very much alike, but this was no doubt owing to the fact that they were each dressed in a blue blouse and each had a little blue flannel cap on the top of a cluster of fair curls.
It was not long before the lady had made friends with the little chaps, and she always kept an eye on the watch for the blue blouses when she was walking in the fields or lanes near the farm. It was soon obvious that one was not only decidedly the elder of the two, but leader, protector, champion, and hero of his little brother. The devotion of the younger child was touching. If he were asked a question he mutely referred it to the other. If he were given anything he never failed to see whether it would be acceptable in the eyes of the superior being whom he worshipped. The two little boys blue were inseparable, and were bound by the best of all ties in which each needs something that the other has to give.
Where is Willie?
There came a day when the lady, who had taken the pair of them into her affections, went away from home. She did not return for several weeks, and when she did so she determined to walk the mile and a half from the station to the village to enjoy the freshness of the country air after that of a stuffy railway carriage. Her shortest way was by a footpath which led through the fields at the back of the farmhouse. Near the stack-yard was a bit of grass ground, once an orchard, where a few old apple trees were still standing. Here the clothes lines were accustomed to be stretched between two or three sloping posts. Here she had often noticed the bit of colour against the greys of the house and the old tree stems when the two blue blouses had undergone the necessary wash, and were hanging out to dry.... On this particular afternoon the lady was hurrying home, delighting in every well-known sight and sound. She heard the geese in the yard, and saw the smoke curling up against the great elm-tree. Then she reached the orchard wall and looked across. The patch of blue caught her eye at once: but there was something wrong: never before had she seen only one blouse on the line, just as she had never seen one of the boys alone. What did it mean? In another moment she caught sight of the younger child. “Why, where is Willie?” was the quick question. But there was no answer. For a moment the boy looked at her with big wondering eyes, then turned and was gone in an instant. She lost sight of him behind the laurel bush near the farmhouse door.
So long as she lived that lady will never forget the dumb pathos of the child’s expression. Its explanation was one more little grave in the children’s corner of the churchyard.
These examples that have been given are of cases where the cause of the pathos discerned in children can be easily traced. It is not infrequently the case that something unhappy—something appealing—is noticed in a child, but that nothing can be discovered to account for it. The observer feels sure that there is something wrong, but all efforts to bring it to light or to be of any help are baffled.
The Deserted Cottage.
It was not so long ago that a man for whom children had a special interest found himself compelled to pass along the same country lane for many days in succession. At one point there stood a cottage which presented a blank end to the road, its windows and door facing a small garden and being in full view of passers-by for some distance. It had at first a most melancholy appearance owing to its having been for a long time unoccupied. The windows looked gloomy and black, the scrap of garden was overgrown and bedraggled, the old pear tree on the front had been blown loose and one branch hung in a dissipated manner over the porch, while on the path lay a couple of broken stone tiles which had fallen from the roof.