full of kindness, and thought about beech woods and walled towns, or about Carl Schurz and the Romantic revolution.
He had been to see Mrs. Erlich just before starting home for the holidays, and found her making German Christmas cakes. She took him into the kitchen and explained the almost holy traditions that governed this complicated cookery. Her excitement and seriousness as she beat and stirred were very pretty, Claude thought. She told off on her fingers the many ingredients, but he believed there were things she did not name: the fragrance of old friendships, the glow of early memories, belief in wonder-working rhymes and songs. Surely these were fine things to put into little cakes! After Claude left her, he did something a Wheeler didnt do; he went down to O street and sent her a box of the reddest roses he could find. In his pocket was the little note she had written to thank him.
Chapter VII
Approaching the door, Claude stopped a moment and peered in at the kitchen window. The table was set for supper, and Mahailey was at the stove, stirring something in a big iron pot; cornmeal mush, probably, she often made it for herself now that her teeth had begun to fail. She stood leaning over, embracing the pot with one arm, and with the other she beat the stiff contents, nodding her head in time to this rotary movement. Confused emotions surged up in Claude. He went in quickly and gave her a bearish hug.
Her face wrinkled up in the foolish grin he knew so well. Lord, how you scared me, Mr. Claude! A little moren Id a had my mush all over the floor. You lookin fine, you nice boy, you!
He knew Mahailey was gladder to see him come home than any one except his mother. Hearing Mrs. Wheelers wandering, uncertain steps in the enclosed stairway, he opened the door and ran halfway up to meet her, putting his arm about her with the almost painful tenderness he always felt, but seldom was at liberty to show. She reached up both hands and stroked his hair for a moment, laughing as one does to a little boy, and telling him she believed it was redder every time he came back.
Have we got all the corn in, Mother?
No, Claude, we havent. You know were always behindhand. Its been fine, open weather for husking, too. But at least weve got rid of that miserable Jerry; so theres something to be thankful for. He had one of his fits of temper in town one day, when he was hitching up to come home, and Leonard Dawson saw him beat one of our horses with the neck-yoke. Leonard told your father, and spoke his mind, and your father discharged Jerry. If you or Ralph had told him, he most likely wouldnt have done anything about it. But I guess all fathers are the same. She chuckled confidingly, leaning on Claudes arm as they descended the stairs.
I guess so. Did he hurt the horse much? Which one was it?
The little black, Pompey. I believe he is rather a mean horse. The men said one of the bones over the eye was broken, but he would probably come round all right.
Pompey isnt mean; hes nervous. All the horses hated Jerry, and they had good reason to. Claude jerked his shoulders to shake off disgusting recollections of this mongrel man which flashed back into his mind. He had seen things happen in the barn that he positively couldnt tell his father. Mr. Wheeler came into the kitchen and stopped on his way upstairs long enough to say, Hello, Claude. You look pretty well.
Yes, sir. Im all right, thank you.
Bayliss tells me youve been playing football a good deal.
Not more than usual. We played half a dozen games; generally got licked. The State has a fine team, though.
I expect, Mr. Wheeler drawled as he strode upstairs.
Supper went as usual. Dan kept grinning and blinking at Claude, trying to discover whether he had already been informed of Jerrys fate. Ralph told him the neighbourhood gossip: Gus Yoeder, their German neighbour, was bringing suit against
a farmer who had shot his dog. Leonard Dawson was going to marry Susie Grey. She was the girl on whose account Leonard had slapped Bayliss, Claude remembered.
After supper Ralph and Mr. Wheeler went off in the car to a Christmas entertainment at the country schoolhouse. Claude and his mother sat down for a quiet talk by the hard-coal burner in the living room upstairs. Claude liked this room, especially when his father was not there. The old carpet, the faded chairs, the secretary book-case, the spotty engraving with all the scenes from Pilgrims Progress that hung over the sofa these things made him feel at home. Ralph was always proposing to re-furnish the room in Mission oak, but so far Claude and his mother had saved it.
Claude drew up his favourite chair and began to tell Mrs. Wheeler about the Erlich boys and their mother. She listened, but he could see that she was much more interested in hearing about the Chapins, and whether Edwards throat had improved, and where he had preached this fall. That was one of the disappointing things about coming home; he could never interest his mother in new things or people unless they in some way had to do with the church. He knew, too, she was always hoping to hear that he at last felt the need of coming closer to the church. She did not harass him about these things, but she had told him once or twice that nothing could happen in the world which would give her so much pleasure as to see him reconciled to Christ. He realized, as he talked to her about the Erlichs, that she was wondering whether they werent very worldly people, and was apprehensive about their influence on him. The evening was rather a failure, and he went to bed early.