"Not at all," said the minister, while the doctor hastily drew forth his notebook and made the following note for the great work on heredity: "When a person is suffering, he is liable to believe that things have always been as they are at that particular moment; hence the unhealthy poems, novels and dramas which certain disordered minds spring upon the public." Then the doctor replaced his notebook, contemplated the weeping boy for a moment or two, sat down beside him, put his arms around him, and exclaimed:
"My darling boy, I love you better than I love my life." The doctor lied terribly, as most busy people do who affirm strong, unselfish sentiments, but Jack was not in a condition just then to question the character of any one who cared to befriend him, so he hid his face in his father's breast and cried as if he could not stop. He even threw his own arms about the doctor with a mighty grip, considering how young the boy was.
"Think of your mother, too," pleaded the doctor. "She has suffered more for you than you ever can for yourself, and she is dreadfully feeble and nervous; do try to lighten the load which at best must be very heavy to her."
"I will," said Jack; "indeed I will. I'll darn all my own stockings."
"And," said the minister, who wished all things done decently and in order as established by Providence, "pray daily for grace to overcome every sin."
"I always do," said Jack, "but it don't always work."
"It never will," said the minster, "if you don't act as if your prayer was in earnest. No amount of praying will keep you out of a mud-puddle if you persist in wanting to go into it."
"Well, come along," remarked the doctor, who had consulted his watch, and remembered a patient who expected a call just then. The door opened, and the trio stepped into the hall; just then there came along a zephyr which had passed a kitchen where onions were being boiled, but for all that, Jack thought it the most delicious breeze that ever blew. The constable, who stood outside the door gave Jack a most discomposing scowl which was not entirely disconnected with remembrances of water melons; but Jack, instead of repaying the scowl in kind, which he could have done with entire success from his own incomparable collection of faces, inwardly determined that at some appropriate time he would privately apologize to the official and repay his water melon in kind. As his father and the minister turned toward the main street, Jack exhibited strong manifestations of reluctance, so both gentlemen concluded it would be only merciful to lead the boy homeward through less frequented streets. But it seemed to Jack as if the whole town had known of his impending release, and were lying in wait to look at him. Shantz the butcher drove by and glared at him; old Nokkerman, en route for supper, looked upon him reproachfully; Nuderkopf Trinkelspiel, who was mixing mortar in front of a new building, contemplated him with the stony stare which is not peculiar to cockneys only, and Matt himself went by without bestowing even a friendly wink upon him.
Worst of all, as the trio passed Billy Barker's house, the nice little sister of Billy happened to step outside the door. Jack dropped his eyes ever so far, but he could not resist looking out of their extreme corners to see what she might think of him. The face which he saw contained considerable wonder, but it also expressed a sorrow which was unmixed with reprobation, and by the time that Jack reached home he was brimful of a feeling to which he had hitherto been an utter stranger. It was not love, as that sentiment is conventionally defined, for it was entirely devoid of passion and selfishness, but it is not surprising that Jack, having never heard love talked of but in one way—to wit, a strong regard for one person by another person of the opposite sex—should go home with the firm conviction that he was oceans deep in love with nice little Mattie Barker. To get a kind look from a person of whom you have never heard anything bad, a person who never scolded you, nor meddled with any of your affairs, and in whose face you can see no evidence of guile, will doubtless cause you, adult reader, to contemplate such person with earnest regard, and if you are a man and the person alluded to is of the other sex, you will hardly be able, even in the light of your past experience among humanity, to imagine any reason why she may not be an angel in human form.