“Yes, father.”
“And that you are not to fight the other boys in the town?”
“Yes, father.”
“Why do you disobey me like this?”
“I don't know. I try to be good.”
“You are growing into an idle, wicked boy. You are a great trouble to your mother and myself.”
“Yes, father. I want to be better.”
Even now he could admire his father's strength, the bull-neck, the dark close-cropped hair, but he was cold, and the blood had come where he bit his lip—because he must not cry.
“You must learn obedience. Take off your nightshirt.”
He took it off, and was a very small naked figure in the starlight, but his head was up now and he faced his father.