Miss Anita Clement was the maiden lady who had rented, with her two unmarried sisters, Mr. David Lothrop's house at the west end of the village. She had a girlish figure, good features and soulful eyes. Her exact age was somewhere between twenty-five and forty. This lady's delicate beauty was impaired a trifle by a nervous mouth which told, in spite of all efforts to the contrary, that its owner was easily annoyed, and was a stranger to the various blessings of a tranquil spirit. She had no sense of humor; but this deficiency was counterbalanced by a profound respect for the conventions of life, and by a sincere and humble adoration of her own religious creed, with a corresponding contempt for all others. Her dominant attribute was timidity. Compared with Miss Clement, the average mouse was a fearless desperado. As is usually the case with such temperaments, her nerves were assertive.
This particular November afternoon they seemed to have started a revolt throughout her whole interior mechanism; and she decided to consult a physician. So she walked out to Dr. Alton's house. On this walk—about two miles—she passed a group of boys playing with a football. Now boys, to Miss Clement, were the living emblems of noise and danger. Her one dread concerning a future existence was the possibility of there being boys in Heaven. And, in this life, the things she dreaded most were fire, burglars, run-away horses, smallpox and boys. Her sympathy with boys was akin to her sympathy with thunderstorms and pirates. In passing boys in the street or on the common she held her breath in nervous terror, expecting to be struck by a baseball, or bat or stone, green apple or snow-ball, according to season. Only in color and in clothing did she recognize any difference between boys and Comanche Indians. She loved Law and Order; whereas, to a boy, Law and Order were merely bars to freedom. She had reasons for believing that the highest ambition of every normal boy under twelve years of age was to become an influential outlaw. And she was not far wrong.
This being Saturday afternoon, and no school, the earth seemed swarming with these offensive creatures. However, by going around the common instead of across it, she reached Dr. Alton's house alive—and rang the bell. The door was opened by yet another boy, eight or nine years of age. Miss Clement, being a newcomer in the town, had not the honor of this child's acquaintance. Knowing all boys to be barbarians, with no manners, she was surprised when this one acknowledged her presence with a smile of welcome and a ceremonious bow. It was the kind of salutation that Louis XIV would have given to the Queen of Spain. She might have expected it from an elderly dancing master, but never from a boy in this New England village. Taken by surprise, she was silent a moment, fearing this youthful savage, perhaps more uncivilized even than other boys, was amusing himself at her expense. A good look at his face, however, allayed suspicion. In his calm eyes and radiant smile there was nothing but pleasure at seeing her. Beside him stood—or rather bounced—a youthful dog. He was a fox terrier. Judging from the activity of his tail and from the general expression of his person, the arrival of the visitor was affording him joy and excitement. In a tentative bark he told his welcome.
But Miss Clement hesitated. Her dread of boys was only equaled by her aversion to dogs. How a civilized person could live in the same house with a dog she had never been able to understand. Their manners and customs were unspeakable. And the exuberant vitality of this dog annoyed her. His joy was unreasoning and intemperate. He wagged his tail with such energy as to sway his entire person. Judging from outward vibrations his very soul was wagging. He gave the impression—to this visitor—of having a frivolous nature. And she found solace in the thought that, later on, he would be made to realize that life was a serious thing.
"Is Dr. Alton at home?" she inquired.
"No, ma'am,"
"Do you know when he will return?"
"Oh, very soon! Won't you walk in?" and he stepped aside, holding the door wide open. At the same time, he waved with his free hand a courtly gesture toward the interior of the house. Inwardly disturbed by this unexpected deportment of a barbarian, Miss Clement walked into the sitting-room and seated herself on a sofa, near the open fire. It was a large cheerful room with white woodwork and a pale green paper on the walls, somewhat faded in places near the sunny windows. Scattered over the large center table were many books and periodicals. On the floor in front of her was a pair of scissors and a family Bible. The Bible was open and three of its illustrations, recently extracted, were lying beside it. The author of this mutilation climbed into a large arm chair directly opposite, sitting very erect, as if on his best behavior. He was watching her with undisguised interest and approval.
But the dog was inclined to be familiar. He jammed his nose against her skirt and ankles and sniffed in a most offensive way. The boy saw that these things annoyed her and he called off the brute, rebuked him and apologized to the visitor. "I guess you have a dog, and Zac smells him."