The Blossoming Rod | Page 4

the room,
surreptitiously tickling one of Baby's bare feet and pulling Mary's curls
on his way to greet his father.
"What have you been doing to get so dirty?"
"Playing cops and robbers," said the boy, serenely. His dimples
appeared suddenly; his eyes lit up. "Say, mother"--he turned to her
irresolutely--"shall I tell father now?"
"Not until after dinner," returned the mother inexorably. "Go and make
yourself clean!"

"May I put on my white silk tie?" George's white tie was the banner of
festivity.
"Yes."
"You rouse my curiosity. This seems to be a great occasion," said
Langshaw.
"Oh, it is!" agreed the mother happily. She murmured in his ear as they
went downstairs: "I hope you'll show that you're pleased, dear. You
know sometimes when you really are pleased you don't show it at
once--and George has been trying so hard. If you'll only show that
you're pleased--"
"Yes--all right!" returned the husband a little impatiently. Clytie had a
sensitive consideration for her son's feelings which struck him at times
as exaggerated. He thought of the delightful secret back in his own
mind; there was no reason for talking any more about the rod until he
bought it; he would manage to replace the dollar abstracted from the
reserve fund.
If he gave absent answers during the meal Clytie seemed to be
preoccupied also. Little Mary, who sat by him, tucked her hand into his
as she prattled.
"Now, George!" said his mother at last suddenly when the rice pudding
had been finished. George rose, clean and red-cheeked, looking more
than ever like a large edition of Baby, in spite of his jacket and
knickerbockers, as he stepped over to his father with a new dignity and
handed him a folded sheet of paper.
"What's this?" asked Langshaw genially opening it. He read aloud the
words within, written laboriously in a round, boyish hand:
To George Brander Langshaw, from father. You Oh me five dolars.
Reseived paiment.

"Hello! Hello! What does this mean?" asked Langshaw slowly, with an
unpleasant startled sensation that any such sum in connection with
George was out of all reason.
"It means a bill for you from me!" announced George. His cheeks grew
redder, his blue eyes looked squarely at his father. "It's for this!" He
pulled from his pocket a school report card divided into tiny ruled
squares, filled with figures for half its length, and flung it down proudly
on the table before his parent.
"It's the Deportment--since September. You said when Miss Skinner
sent that last note home about me that if I could get a hundred in
Deportment for every month up to Christmas you'd be willing to pay
me five dollars. You can see there for yourself, father, the three one
hundreds--no, not that line--that's only fifty-five for spelling; nobody
ever knows their spelling! Here is the place to look--in the Deportment
column. I've tried awful hard to be good, father, to surprise you."
"The way that child has tried!" burst forth Clytie, her dark eyes
drowned in sparkles. "And they're so unfair at school--giving you a
mark if you squeak your chair, or speak, or look at anybody; as if any
child could be expected to sit like a stone all the time! I'm sure I love to
hear children laughing--and you know yourself how hard it is for
George to be quiet! We had a little talk about it together, he and I; and
now you see! It's been such work keeping his card from you each
month when you asked for it. One day he thought he had a bad mark
and he couldn't eat any dinner--you thought he was ill; but he went to
Miss Skinner the next day and she took it off because he had been
trying so hard to be good. Joe, why don't you speak?"
"George, I'm proud of you!" said Langshaw simply. There was a slight
huskiness in his voice; the round face and guileless blue eyes of his
little boy, who had tried "awful hard to be good," seemed to have
acquired a new dignity. The father saw in him the grown-up son who
could be depended upon to look after his mother if need were.
Langshaw held out his hand as man to man; the two pairs of eyes met
squarely. "Nothing you could have done would have pleased me more
than this, George. I value it more than any Christmas present I could

have."
"Mother said you'd like it," said the beaming George, ducking his head
suddenly and kicking out his legs from behind.
"And you'll pay the five dollars?" supplemented Clytie anxiously.
"Surely!" said Langshaw. The glances of the parents met in one of the
highest pleasures that life affords: the approval together of the good
action of their dear