benevolence that trembled in the air, the boys looked at each other and took stock. Madden was older. His legs and arms were sure of themselves. But he was not quite grown up; his mouth was not quite sure.

“Teddy’s a great artist,” Bob said. “Artists always run away from home, Mary. It’s a law of Nature. Didn’t they tell you that at school?” he asked Blake.

“No, sir. They never talk about artists at all.”

“Oh, come now.” Bob leaned forward hopefully, with his tirade against modern education all ready in his mouth. “Do you mean to say that you didn’t study Michelangelo?”

“But that’s not art,” Blake said, in all sincerity. “That’s Ancient History.”

“And that’s an epigram, my son,” said Mary.

Madden seemed pleased. “Whether it is or not, it’s a good one,” he said. Very sure of himself, he stood by Mary and handed tea-cups around.

Of all of them the tea-pot seemed to be the only one that expected anything of the gathering. The others subsided and waited for the tea-pot to make a remark that would start things going. Blake looked at it almost hopefully, it was so authoritative. What would it say? Being a member of the family, it had a good deal of license. Being of an aristocratic and expensive shape, it would doubtless waive its right, like Mary, and remain as composed and silent as Mary herself. This is just what it did.

Under his own half-developed sense of responsibility Blake squirmed. It was all his fault. If he had not been here, the tea party would have been an informal pleasant thing. If he had been in his own room studying Latin or looking out of the window at the reluctant New England spring, Mary and Bob would even now be talking smoothly, worrying about nothing at all. If he had not been here, gripping his cup with an angry defiance, Teddy Madden would have been free to go back into the corner and read. Instead, here they all sat, looking at each other.

Bob cleared his throat and said loudly, “Well, Blake, what was it all about? Tell us what crime you committed. We’re waiting.”

Mary looked distressed, but said nothing.

“I guess Dr. Miller wrote as much as I could tell you,” said Blake.

“He wrote, of course, darling,” said Mary. “He has a way of obscuring things. We just couldn’t make it out at all.”

“He writes an extraordinary letter,” added Bob. “Extraordinary. Wasn’t it, Ted?”

“Absolutely,” said Madden. Blake was suddenly furious that Madden had seen it. What business was it of Madden’s? What had his mother been thinking of?

There were little pin-scratches on the wood of his chair. Some of them formed designs; just next to his hand on the right chair-arm was a lopsided fleur-de-lys. But the design in the cloth of his trousers was different; eyed closely, it had the appearance of a family of brown triangles turning their backs with one accord on another family of tan triangles....

“Blake,” said Mary gently.

He answered, “Well, I’m just trying to think of what to say. I don’t know what the matter is. I can’t get along with people, I guess.”

“What sort of people, darling?”

“Any sort. Masters. Boys. Anybody. It’s my general attitude.”

“What?” cried Bob, smiling.

“My general attitude. That’s what Dr. Miller said. He said I was unsocial and spoiled and an irritant to the community.”

“Yes, yes, yes,” said Bob. “But what did you do? He wouldn’t have sent you away for that. There must have been something more specific.”

“There wasn’t, really. I had a row with the English master about a theme because I left out some commas and they were putting it into the school magazine and he edited it. He put the commas back in and ran some of the sentences together so that they would be well-rounded, he said. I told him he hadn’t any right to do it. He didn’t have, either. He said there were certain rules of language, and I said, all right, I would make up some more. He was sore.”

“What else?” said Mary.

“Then there were lots of little things. Mother, I hate that place. I told you, Christmas. I said this would happen.”

“But you promised to try, dear. Did you?”

“I did try at first. There was a meeting in the auditorium last week and there was a man there to talk. He used to be a friend of Roosevelt and he was Miller’s cousin. They always play the Star Spangled Banner and you’re supposed to stand at attention, and I didn’t.”

“But why didn’t you?” said Bob. Blake said nothing. He couldn’t explain. It had been a sudden rush of anger at everything; he couldn’t put that feeling into words for Bob.

“Well, dear, and then?”

“I was called up to Miller and we had a fight about everything that had happened. There was something else; a silly old fight about making too much noise in the library.”

Blake’s eyes met Teddy’s, and he thought he saw the other boy nod at him. He was a little comforted.

“Well, well, well,” said Bob, standing up, “it’s a revolutionary age. We mustn’t take these things too seriously, Mary. Remember, we all outgrow it. I must be getting along. Come on, Ted. Remember Tuesday.”

He patted Blake’s head, kissed Mary, and went out. Teddy nodded casually and followed him. He looked a little embarrassed.

Mary patted Blake’s head, too, but she couldn’t think of anything to say. He put down a cookie on the table and said, “I’m awfully sorry. I couldn’t help it, honestly.”

“I know. But I’m a little worried. What will you do in the fall?”

“Couldn’t I stop trying to go to school? It’s no use, really. Let me go to work.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, dear. What could you do?”

“I don’t know. Something. I don’t want to worry you.”

“You know you don’t worry me. I want you to find yourself.”

“Uh-huh.” He twirled a button on his coat.

“Well,” she said, “we’ll think about it. You spend the summer here and get a good rest.”

“What’s it like?”

“Oh, I think you’ll like it very much. There are plenty of people for you to play with.”

“How are you?”

“Better, I think. Doctor Browning says to be very quiet this summer, and it ought to work wonders.”

“Who’s Madden?”

“That’s a very nice boy. Bob says he is really talented. He’s been here since early spring; I think he worked his way out just so he could join the art colony. So many of those boys do that sort of thing.... I think that we might find another school for you, dear, or a tutor. It would mean only one more year, and you’ll like college.”

“No, I won’t. I don’t want to go. Please.”

“Well, we’ll see.... I think dinner is ready.”

He almost fell asleep at the table. It was the fault of the fire, so near his chair. He couldn’t stop watching it. Along the cracks in the charcoal, little blue flames walked up and down lapping at the air. The room was filled with the faint parched sweet smell.

Anxious to get to his room and to look again at the mountains, he kissed Mary and went to bed. He undressed and lay down and turned to the window. But now there was nothing but darkness; the sky was full of very big bright stars and around the edge of the world there were no more stars. Big shadows had blotted them out, but what shape the shadows had or how far away they were, it was impossible to say. He drew his knees up and rubbed the pillow with his cheek and closed his eyes.

For a long time he could not go to sleep; he kept his eyes shut with an effort, against the waiting mass of the mountains; he smiled and jerked his pillow closer to his shoulder, with a nervous alert hand.

CHAPTER TWO

“And over there is Camel Rock,” Gin shouted, trying to reach the far corners of the bus with her voice. Just then the