Part 1 (1/2)

More Jonathan Papers.

by Elisabeth Woodbridge.

I

The Searchings of Jonathan

What I find it hard to understand is, why a person who can see a spray of fringed gentian in the middle of a meadow cant see a book on the sitting-room table.

The reason why I can see the gentian, said Jonathan, is because the gentian is there.

So is the book, I responded.

Which table? he asked.

The one with the lamp on it. Its a red book, about _so_ big.

It isnt there; but, just to satisfy you, Ill look again.

He returned in a moment with an argumentative expression of countenance.

It isnt there, he said firmly. Will anything else do instead?

No, I wanted you to read that special thing. Oh, dear! And I have all these things in my lap! And I know it _is_ there.

And I _know_ it isnt. He stretched himself out in the hammock and watched me as I rather ostentatiously laid down thimble, scissors, needle, cotton, and material and set out for the sitting-room table. There were a number of books on it, to be sure. I glanced rapidly through the piles, fingered the lower books, pushed aside a magazine, and pulled out from beneath it the book I wanted. I returned to the hammock and handed it over. Then, after possessing myself, again rather ostentatiously, of material, cotton, needle, scissors, and thimble, I sat down.

Its the second essay I specially thought wed like, I said.

Just for curiosity, said Jonathan, with an impersonal air, where did you find it?

Find what? I asked innocently.

The book.

Oh! On the table.

Which table?

The one with the lamp on it.

I should like to know where.

Whyjust thereon the table. There was an Atlantic on top of it, to be sure.

I saw the Atlantic. Blest if it looked as though it had anything under it! Besides, I was looking for it on top of things. You said you laid it down there just before luncheon, and I didnt think it could have crawled in under so quick.

When youre looking for a thing, I said, you mustnt think, you must look. Now go ahead and read.

If this were a single instance, or even if it were one of many ill.u.s.trating a common human frailty, it would hardly be worth setting down. But the frailty under consideration has come to seem to me rather particularly masculine. Are not all the Jonathans in the world continually being sent to some sitting-room table for something, and coming back to a.s.sert, with more or less pleasantness, according to their temperament, that it is not there? The incident, then, is not isolated; it is typical of a vast group. For Jonathan, read Everyman; for the red book, read any particular thing that you want Him to bring; for the sitting-room table, read the place where you know it is and Everyman says it isnt.