The minister made it quite clear that no Papist could by any chance enter the Kingdom of Heaven, and equally clear that a good, strict Baptist could and surely would. As to other denominations, he felt dubious, indeed plainly doubtful, almost certain. Still, he said, grace was infinite, and the wisdom of the Father beyond the grasp of mortal man. On the other hand, he acknowledged himself a sinner, and frequently proclaimed, as with a sort of pride, that his entire congregation, individually and collectively, were miserable sinners; and they agreed. He told them, moreover, the wages of sin was death. He told them also, with unction, of the bloody source whence came the wages of purity in redemption. The child appealed to Grandpa, who said the minister was an idiot full of wind and nonsense. The child suffered. Nothing in this new world agreed with his own world. It was all upside down, all distorted, cruel and sugary. It was not like his beautiful springtime, it was not even like his beautiful winter. There was no laughter, no joy as he knew these things. He appealed to Grandma, but his questions were too persistently direct, too embarrassing to her placidity. She explained perfunctorily; he got no satisfaction there.
He began to think perhaps Grandpa was right. After more sermons, and prayers, and denunciations, he began to feel distinctly that his world, his life, which he had frankly felt to be one, was being torn in two. Instinctively he revolted. He would not have the beauty of life torn from him and destroyed. These things he did not say; he felt them powerfully. A tragedy was approaching. He was about to lose what he loved, what he held precious in life; he was about to lose his own life as he knew or felt life. He rebelled. He lost confidence in the minister. He no longer believed what was said. More than that he soon disbelieved everything that was said. He was regaining his freedom. The services increasingly irritated him; he asked to be transferred to the Sunday School. He would at least see children there. The Old Testament amused and pleased him with its interesting stories. He could almost live them over. But when it came to the crucifixion he rebelled again in spirit, this time so ardently that it was thought prudent at home to release him from Sunday School and Church alike. His rumination now was to the effect that fortune might perhaps also separate him from the schoolhouse, standing white and bare on the hillside.
IV
A Vacation
Louis became moody. Day by day the hillside school and all its doings irked him ruthlessly. In wood, field and meadow, his friends the birds were free. Why should he remain within these walls imprisoned and sad? He was a child of sudden resolves. On a morning early he went to the pantry. As he glanced over the shelves, his thoughts wandered to the pink and white smiling baker who delivered “Parker House rolls” every so often, and, with a cheery word left thirteen for a dozen. “A baker’s dozen” he would say every time he drove up to the kitchen door; and then in a busy way inquire: “How’s all the folks? Guess I don’t need ask if this boy’s a sample.” Then he would make a quick step into his light wagon and away with a rattling start. The boy in the quiet pantry unbuttoned his blouse, as his thoughts went on: Not so at the school; Teacher was not always kind.
Twice with a rattan she had whipped the palm of his right hand while he placed his free arm across his eyes and bent his head and cried. It did not hurt much, but Teacher said it hurt her more than it did him. She told all the class so. She said she must make an example by having him stand on the platform and she said she did it to “learn him to mind and pay attention”; that it was her moral duty to do so; that she could not fail in her moral duty even though it pained her; that she punished not in anger but in grief; and then she cried, her forehead bowed between her hands, as she sat at her desk on the raised platform. He recalled that she had cried this way every time she had whipped a child, and she didn’t whip very often either; so he bore her no ill will; yet he wondered why he should be whipped at school when he was never whipped or punished at all, at home; and again came floating the thought of the dainty baker-man; nimble, pink-faced, blue twinkling eyes and jolly chuckle. Thus musing but intent he filled his blouse with rolls and doughnuts and cookies—and buttoned up. Also, he had, hidden in his bosom, a small tin cup, for he knew where he was going. He was preparing to answer the call of a wooded ravine through which wandered a noisy rivulet. He had seen it but once, while on a walk with Grandpa, but he marked it then as the favored spot in his imaginary world. Once found and marked for friendship, it often had called to him in his school—a distant call—he could not come. This morning it called to him irrevocably and nearby.
Without a word to anyone he set forth, following the Stoneham Road westward until he reached the gate of a right of way leading northward. He climbed the padlocked gate, and, following the
