Within these walls

by Rupert Hughes

And such things could happen in a world where the fall of a sparrow was marked—marked but not prevented!

Immy must at all costs be sheltered from any further hazards. It seemed unwise to take her to the city, where dangers thronged everywhere, and pollution increased hourly. But when he hinted that it might be better not to go to town for the procession, Immy almost went into a convulsion of protest. She pleaded that she had a special right to see the parade because she had been so badly hurt.

RoBards granted the prayer to silence the argument. He wondered if Jud Lasher had left yet, but dared not ask. When he rode past the hut, he put spurs to his horse lest the mother accost him again, but his sidelong glances never caught a glimpse of Jud.

He did not know that the wretch had lain abed for days while his bruises mended and that when he was up again and saw RoBards in the road, he ran and hid, stealing out again to shake his fist at the vanishing figure and gibber new threats.

At length the parade day drew near. Mr. and Mrs. Albeson decided to go in the farm wagon drawn by their own team. Mrs. Albeson would not risk her bones in the steam railroad and she quenched her husband’s enthusiasm for an experimental ride on the devil-wagons. She cooked a dinner and a supper for RoBards and the children and set the table for them and drove off.

RoBards had promised the children a ride on the steam-cars and planned to leave the house the next morning. After the Albesons had clattered away, he went to his library to select such books as he might want in town during the winter. He walked now and then to the window to watch the children playing on the lawn.

As he stood there once he caught sight of a lone pedestrian, a hulking youth who carried his belongings in a bag hung on a stick slung across his shoulder. He recognized Jud Lasher—evidently on his way to sea.

Without telling them why, RoBards called the children indoors. They scampered about his feet for a while, then their game led them gradually into the hall. There they played hide and seek, with long silences broken by loud outcries and a racket of running and laughter.

After a vague period he woke from a reverie like a deep sleep and realized that he had not heard their voices for a long time. He called; there was no answer. He cried their names up the stairway. A sense of some uncanny horror set his heart athrob. He went back to the library window puzzled, calling.

Then he caught sight of Keith standing chubbily against a huge tulip tree with his hands over his eyes. He was counting loudly. RoBards smiled at the solemnity of the everlasting game of hide-and-seek—grown-ups and infants hiding their eyes and hiding themselves and making a sport of what should be a serious business.