manner. But any boy could see that the thing went to sleep by turning its
eyes inside out, _and its garters were painted on its fat legs_. These
things he was, of course, too much the gentleman to point out.

When the Doctor and his host came down stairs late in the afternoon, the
little boy and girl were fairly friendly. Only there was talk of kissing
at the door, started by the little girl's uncle, and this the little boy
of course could not consider, even though he suddenly wished it of all
things--for he had never kissed any one but his father and mother. He had
told Clytie it made him sick to be kissed. Now, when the little girl
called to him as if it were the simplest thing in the world, he could not
go. And then she stabbed him by falsely kissing the complacent Allan
standing by, who thereupon smirked in sickening deprecation and promptly
rubbed his cheek.

Not until the pair were out in the street did his man-strength come back
to him, and then he could only burn with indignation at her and at Allan.
He wondered that no one was shocked at him for feeling as he did. But, as
they seemed not to notice him, he rode his horse again. No mad gallop now,
but a slow, moody jog--a pace ripe for any pessimism.

"Clytie!" he called imperiously, after a little. "Do you think there's a
real bone in this horse--like a _regular_ horse?"

Clytie responded from the dining-room with a placid "I guess so."

"If I sawed into its neck, would the saw go right into a real _bone_?"

"My suz! what talk! Well?"