Everychild | Page 2

before him, and after a
long time he stretched himself and said: "Ho--hum!" And then he began
to frown and to stare at an oak chair over against the wall.
You might have supposed he had a grudge against the chair; and it
seemed that the chair might be crying out to him in its own language: "I
am not merely a chair. Look at me! I was a limb on a mighty oak. I was
a child of the sun and the rain and the earth. I used to sing and dance.
Oh, do not look at me like that!" But the gentleman knew nothing of all
this.
Both the lady and the gentleman were thinking of nothing but
themselves and they continued to do this even when a door opened and
their son entered the room.
Their son's name was Everychild; and because he is to be the most
important person in this story I should like to tell you as much about
him as I can. But really, there is very little I can tell. His mother often
said that he was a peculiar child. It was almost impossible to tell what
his thoughts were, or his dreams, or how much he loved this person or
that, or what he desired most.
It was difficult for him to get into the room. He was carrying something
which he could not manage very well. But no one offered to help him.
Presently he had got quite into the room, leaving the door open.

The thing he carried was a kite, and he was holding it high to keep it
free of the ground. The tail had got caught in the string and there was a
rent in the blue paper.
The clock struck just as he entered and he stopped to count the strokes.
Seven. The last stroke died away with a quivering sound. Then with
faltering feet he approached his father.
His father was frowning. He stopped and pondered. He had seen that
frown on his father's face many times before, and it had always puzzled
him. Sometimes it would come while you watched, and you couldn't
think what made it come. Or it would go away in the strangest manner,
without anything having happened at all. It was a great mystery.
The frown did not go away this time; and presently Everychild
approached his father timidly. It was rather difficult for him to speak;
but he managed to say:
"Daddy, do you think you could fix it for me?" He brought the torn kite
further forward and held it higher.
His father did not look at him at all!
Everychild's heart pounded loudly. How could one go on speaking to a
person who would not even look? Yet he persisted. "Could you?" he
repeated.
His father moved a little, but still he did not look at Everychild. He said
rather impatiently: "Never mind now, son."
Then his mother spoke. She had glanced up from her magazine.
"You've left the door open, Everychild," she said.
Everychild put his kite down with care. He returned to the door. It was
a stubborn door. He pulled at it once and again. It closed with a bang.
"Everychild!" exclaimed his mother. The noise had made her jump a
little.

"It always bangs when you close it," said Everychild.
"It wouldn't bang if you didn't open it," said his mother.
He returned and stood beside his father.
"You know you used to fix things for me," he said. He reflected and
brightened a little. "And play with me," he added. "Don't you
remember?"
But just then it seemed that his father and mother thought of something
to say to each other. Their manner was quite unpleasant. They talked
without waiting for each other to get through, and Everychild could not
understand a thing they were saying. He withdrew a little and waited.
But when his parents had talked a little while, rather loudly, his father
got up and went out. He put his hat on, pulling it down over his eyes.
And he banged the door. But it was the outside door this time, which
never banged at all if you were careful.
And then his mother got up and went to her own room--which meant
that she mustn't be disturbed.
Everychild stood for a moment, puzzled; and then he thought of the
broken kite in his hands. He plucked at it slowly. You would have
supposed that he did not care greatly, now, whether the kite got mended
or not. But little by little he became interested in the kite. He sat down
on the floor and began to untangle the tail.
He scarcely knew when the inner door opened and the cook entered the
room.
She was a large, plain person.