"Aw--John--don't hurt it!"
"Let it go!"
"Kill it quick!"
And above their remonstrances rose the agonized squealing of some animal
in pain. I dropped Froebel and, running downstairs, burst upon them
from the side door. They saw me coming, and scattered right and left,
revealing Johnnie Cobden engaged in torturing a mouse. I will spare you
the grisly details. I called to one of the boys to come and drown the
creature quick! John I seized by the collar; and dragged him squirming
and kicking in at the kitchen door. He is a big, hulking boy of
thirteen, and he fought like a little tiger, holding on to posts and
doorjambs as we passed. Ordinarily I doubt if I could have handled him,
but that one sixteenth Irish that I possess was all on top, and I was
fighting mad. We burst into the kitchen, and I hastily looked about for
a means of chastisement. The pancake turner was the first utensil that
met my eyes. I seized it and beat that child with all my strength, until
I had reduced him to a cowering, whimpering mendicant for mercy, instead
of the fighting little bully he had been four minutes before.
And then who should suddenly burst into the midst of this explosion but
Dr. MacRae! His face was blank with astonishment. He strode over and
took the pancake turner out of my hand and set the boy on his feet.
Johnnie got behind him and clung! I was so angry that I really couldn't
talk. It was all I could do not to cry.
"Come, we will take him up to the office," was all the doctor said. And
we marched out, Johnnie keeping as far from me as possible and limping
conspicuously. We left him in the outer office, and went into my library
and shut the door.
"What in the world has the child done?" he asked.
At that I simply laid my head down on the table and began to cry! I was
utterly exhausted both emotionally and physically. It had taken all the
strength I possessed to make the pancake turner effective.
I sobbed out all the bloody details, and he told me not to think about
it; the mouse was dead now. Then he got me some water to drink, and told
me to keep on crying till I was tired; it would do me good. I am
not sure that he didn't pat me on the head! Anyway, it was his best
professional manner. I have watched him administer the same treatment a
dozen times to hysterical orphans. And this was the first time in a week
that we had spoken beyond the formality of "good morning"!