“And to build them over again,” suggested Aunt Abigail with a smile. “Like castles little children build out of blocks.”
It was fortunate that Peggy was able to take so philosophic a view of the situation, for, before night, two of the little sufferers had succumbed to their malady, and the yellow fowl, who could not wholly disclaim responsibility for the misfortunes of her family, was left a hen with one chicken.
CHAPTER XVIII
THE CASTAWAYS
It really began to look as if Jerry were seriously offended. For several days there had been no fresh fish at Dolittle Cottage. Peggy reproached herself for having gone too fast. “I ought to have told him about Audubon and David and let it soak in awhile. But when he started to talk about going to school, there didn’t seem any way out of saying what I thought.”
Jerry’s prolonged absence was very annoying to Peggy. Five minutes face to face, she felt sure, would straighten out the tangle. Peggy had a not unreasonable confidence in the efficacy of kindly frankness. If Jerry once understood the friendliness of her criticism, it was impossible that he should cherish a grudge against her.
As a matter of fact, the mood which accounted for Jerry’s aloofness was no more puzzling to Peggy than to Jerry himself. His first resentment of her criticism had burned itself out for lack of fuel, and had been succeeded by a restlessness unappeased by hours of tramping and climbing. For the first time since he could remember, Jerry found himself looking ahead, questioning the future. In spite of his real ability and his freedom from the more outbreaking faults, Jerry had been progressing steadily toward utter worthlessness, by the simple but effective method of always obeying the whim of the moment. The old grandmother with whom he lived had long before given up all attempt to control the boy, who was generally good-natured when allowed to do exactly as he pleased. Jerry enjoyed himself, kept busy in his own way and returned the disapproval of the community with interest.
Under the influence of the girls at Dolittle Cottage, and of Peggy in particular, Jerry’s attitude toward the world had been gradually changing. He found to his surprise that he liked to be liked. The courteous attitude of these strangers had raised him in his own estimation. The frequent appearance of the hand-painted necktie and the pointed shoes–both of which had belonged to Jerry’s father–was indicative of a change that went deep.
The part he had taken in Lucy Haines’ benefit had also had its share in his development. Strange to say, the extent of Jerry’s musical attainments had proved a surprise, even to the people who had known him from babyhood, and he had received more compliments since that occasion than had fallen to his lot in his previous sixteen years of existence. Whereupon Jerry made the discovery that the praise and admiration of one’s fellows is pleasanter than their disapproval, and his youthful cynicism had weakened accordingly.
The effect of Peggy’s words on this new-born complacency was the havoc of a hailstorm on premature buds. Just as he was beginning to enjoy the flavor of approbation, his attention had been directed to his lacks and shortcomings. He stayed away from Dolittle Cottage because his last visit had been responsible for this present uneasy discomfort. He fished and hunted, rose early, and wandered late, without succeeding in the effort which older and wiser people have undertaken with equally poor success, the attempt to escape from one’s self.