HE little boy was afraid to go into the dark room on the other side of the hall, and the little boy's father was disgusted with him.
“Aren't you ashamed of yourself, Ludlum Thomas?” the father called, from his seat by the library lamp. “Nine years old and scared! Scared to step into a room and turn the light on! Why, when I was your age I used to go out to the barn after dark in the winter-time, and up into the loft, all by myself, and pitch hay down to the horse through the chute. You walk straight into that dining-room, turn on the light, and get what you want; and don't let's have any more fuss about it. You hear me?”
Ludlum disregarded this speech. “Mama,” he called, plaintively, “I want you to come and turn the light on for me. Please, mama!”
Mrs. Thomas, across the library table from her husband, looked troubled, and would have replied, but the head of the house checked her.
“Now let me,” he said. Then he called again: “You going in there and do what I say, or not?”
“Please come on, mama,” Ludlum begged. “Mama, I lef' my bow-an'-arry in the dining-room, an' I want to get it out o' there so's I can take it up to bed with me. Mama, won't you please come turn the light on for me?”
“No, she will not!” Mr. Thomas shouted. “What on earth are you afraid of?”
“Mama”
“Stop calling your mother! She's not coming. You were sitting in the dining-room yourself, not over an hour ago, at dinner, and you weren't afraid then, were you?”
Ludlum appeared between the brown curtains of the library doorway—the sketch of a rather pale child-prince in black velvet. “No, but—” he said.
“But what?”
“It was all light in there then. Mama an' you were in there, too.”
“Now look here!” Mr. Thomas paused, rested his book upon his knee, and spoke slowly. “You know there's nothing in that dining-room except the table and the chairs and the sideboard, don't you?”
Ludlum's eyes were not upon his father but upon the graceful figure at the other side of the table. “Mama,” he said, “won't you please come get my bow-an'-arry for me?”
“Did you hear what I said?”
“Yes, sir,” the boy replied, with eyes still pleading at his mother.
“Well, then, what is there to be afraid of?”
“I'm not afraid,” said Ludlum. “It's dark in there.”
“It won't be dark if you turn on the light, will it?”
“Mama—”
“Now, that's enough!” the father interrupted testily. “It's after eight. You go on up to bed.”
Ludlum's tone began to indicate a mental strain. “I don't want to go to bed without my bow-an'-arry!”
“What do you want your bow and arrow when you're in bed for?”
“I got to have it!”
“See here!” said Mr. Thomas. “You march up to bed and quit talking about your bow and arrow. You can take them with you if you go in there right quick and get them; but whether you do that or not you'll march to bed inside of one minute from now!”
“I got to have my bow-an'-arry. I got to, to go up-stairs with!”
“You don't want your bow and arrow in bed with you, do you?”
“Mama!” Thus Ludlum persisted in his urgent appeal to that court in whose clemency he trusted. “Mama, will you please come get my bow-an'”
“No, she won't.”
“Then will you come up-stairs with me, mama?”
“No, she won't! You'll go by yourself, like a man.”
“Mama”
Mrs. Thomas intervened cheerily. “Don't be afraid, dearie,” she said. “Your papa thinks you ought to begin to learn how to be manly; but the lights are lit all the way, and I told Annie to turn on the one in your room. You just go ahead like a good boy, and when you're all undressed and ready to jump in bed, then you just whistle for me”
“I don't want to whistle,” said Ludlum irritably. “I want my bow-an'-arry!”
“Look here!” cried his father. “You start for”
“I got to have my bow-an'”
“You mean to disobey me?”
“I got to have my”
Mr. Thomas rose; his look became ominous. “We'll see about that!” he said; and he approached his son, whose apprehensions were expressed in a loud cry.
“Mama!”
“Don't hurt his feel—” Mrs. Thomas began.
“Something's got to be done,” her husband said grimly, and his hand fell upon Ludlum's shoulder. “You march!”
Ludlum muttered vaguely.
“You march!”
“I got to have my bow-an'-arry! I can't go to bed 'less mama comes with me! She's got to come with me!”
Suddenly he made a scene. Having started it, he went in for all he was worth and made it a big one. He shrieked, writhed away from his father's hand, darted to his mother, and clung to her with spasmodic violence throughout the protracted efforts of the sterner parent to detach him.