“All boys are,” said the sergeant consolingly, “and most men and women too, for that matter. Nobody can keep their temper all the time. According to my doctrine, you lose it just as seldom as you can; and when you do, don’t kick up a fuss about it, but just do some little thing that lets people know you’re sorry, and then take a fresh sheet and start over again.”
“When I speak sharply to him, I think it my duty to apologize,” said Mrs. Hardy.
“Now, Bess, none of that,” said her husband, “if you don’t want to get priggish. I know you. You’re quick and sensitive, and you think you’ve got to say ‘forgive me’ every time you look the wrong way. That boy will despise you if you keep running to him with apologies. I used to know a fellow out West, Wash-house Billy we called him, because he was forever scrubbing himself—well, that chap was so self-righteous that every time he played a mean trick on any one, he’d go trotting after him with a ‘forgive me’ dropping from his lips. He got knocked down one time for apologizing to a half-breed that wasn’t used to it. Then he had to explain; and the half-breed swore at him, and said he didn’t want any of his half-cooked words. If he was sorry, let him act it. Deeds, not words, were what he wanted. The rest of us were very glad; for Wash-house Billy had got into the bad habit of treating us all as mean as pickpockets, because he was always ready to jump from his low trick to his high one, and we were so dumfounded by his prig religion that we hadn’t the spirit to knock him down as the half-breed did. If the boy provokes you, he deserves a snub.”
“He isn’t provoking,” said Mrs. Hardy warmly, “except occasionally. He’s the sweetest boy, Stephen, and he is going to make a fine man I am sure; and he asks the quaintest questions while he lies in bed with his big black eyes following me round the room.”
“Is he getting up to-day?”
“Yes; he will be out in a few minutes.”
The sergeant went on with his dinner, and did not look up until Eugene came into the room. “How are you?” he said. “I haven’t seen you before to-day. Don’t you want to put on your cap, and come to the park with me?”
“I will go with pleasure,” replied Eugene. Before he could get to the hall, Mrs. Hardy had run there, and had brought his cap, which she dropped lightly on his head.
Eugene lifted it off; then, as if to apologize to her for not donning it until he reached the door, he bent over her hand, and lifting it to his lips, kissed it without speaking.
It was the first caress he had given her, and her face flushed with pleasure as she stood looking after him. “He has such pretty foreign ways,” she murmured. “I wish he would love me.”