The eyes nearly always wore their usual expression of abstraction. It was very rarely that the Wonder allowed his intelligence to be exhibited by that medium. When he did, the effect was strangely disconcerting, blinding. One received an impression of extraordinary concentration: it was as though for an instant the boy was able to give one a glimpse of the wonderful force of his intellect. When he looked one in the face with intention, and suddenly allowed one to realise, as it were, all the dominating power of his brain, one shrank into insignificance, one felt as an ignorant, intelligent man may feel when confronted with some elaborate theorem of the higher mathematics. “Is it possible that any one can really understand these things?” such a man might think with awe, and in the same way one apprehended some vast, inconceivable possibilities of mind-function when the Wonder looked at one with, as I have said, intention.
He was dressed in a little jacket-suit, and wore a linen collar; the knickerbockers, loose and badly cut, fell a little below the knees. His stockings were of worsted, his boots clumsy and thick-soled, though relatively tiny. One had the impression always that his body was fragile and small, but as a matter of fact the body and limbs were, if anything, slightly better developed than those of the average child of four and a half years.
Challis had ample opportunity to make these observations at various periods. He began them as he sat in the Stotts’ cottage. At first he did not address the boy directly.
“I hear your son has been having a religious controversy with Mr. Crashaw,” was his introduction to the object of his visit.
“Indeed, sir!” Plainly this was not news to Mrs. Stott.
“Your son told you?” suggested Challis.
“Oh! no, sir, ’e never told me,” replied Mrs. Stott, “’twas Mr. Crashaw. ’E’s been ’ere several times lately.”
Challis looked sharply at the boy, but he gave no sign that he heard what was passing.
“Yes; Mr. Crashaw seems rather upset about it.”
“I’m sorry, sir, but——”