Part 38 (1/2)

”But it's not the child's fault,” said Mrs. Red House, ”is it now?”

”I don't know, miss,” said the red-haired.

”But it's cruel,” said Mrs. Bax. ”How would you like it if your father was sent to prison, and n.o.body would speak to you?”

”Father's always kep' hisself respectable,” said the girl with the dirty blue ribbon. ”You can't be sent to gaol, not if you keeps yourself respectable, you can't, miss.”

”And do none of you speak to him?”

The other children put their fingers in their mouths, and looked silly, showing plainly that they didn't.

”Don't you feel sorry for the poor little chap?” said Mrs. Bax.

No answer transpired.

”Can't you imagine how you'd feel if it was _your_ father?”

”My father always kep' hisself respectable,” the red-haired girl said again.

”Well, I shall ask him to come and play with us,” said Mrs. Red House.

”Little pigs!” she added in low tones only heard by the author and Mr.

Red House.

But Mr. Red House said in a whisper that no one overheard except Mrs. R.

H. and the present author.

”Don't, Puss-cat; it's no good. The poor little pariah wouldn't like it.

And these kids only do what their parents teach them.”

If the author didn't know what a stainless gentleman Mr. Red House is he would think he heard him mutter a word that gentlemen wouldn't say.

”Tell off a detachment of consolation,” Mr. Red House went on; ”look here, _our_ kids--who'll go and talk to the poor little chap?”

We all instantly said, ”_I_ will!”

The present author was chosen to be the one.

When you think about yourself there is a kind of you that is not what you generally are but that you know you would like to be if only you were good enough. Albert's uncle says this is called your ideal of yourself. I will call it your best I, for short. Oswald's ”best I” was glad to go and talk to that boy whose father was in prison, but the Oswald that generally exists hated being out of the games. Yet the whole Oswald, both the best and the ordinary, was pleased that he was the one chosen to be a detachment of consolation.

He went out under the great archway, and as he went he heard the games beginning again. This made him feel n.o.ble, and yet he was ashamed of feeling it. Your feelings are a beastly nuisance, if once you begin to let yourself think about them. Oswald soon saw the broken boots of the boy whose father was in jail so n.o.body would play with him, standing on the stones near the top of the wall where it was broken to match the boots.

He climbed up and said, ”Hullo!”

To this remark the boy replied, ”Hullo!”

Oswald now did not know what to say. The sorrier you are for people the harder it is to tell them so.

But at last he said--