Dear Enemy

"Aw--John--don't hurt it!"

"Let it go!"

"Kill it quick!"

And above their remonstrances rose the agonized squealing of some animal

in pain. I dropped Froebel and, running downstairs, burst upon them

from the side door. They saw me coming, and scattered right and left,

revealing Johnnie Cobden engaged in torturing a mouse. I will spare you

the grisly details. I called to one of the boys to come and drown the

creature quick! John I seized by the collar; and dragged him squirming

and kicking in at the kitchen door. He is a big, hulking boy of

thirteen, and he fought like a little tiger, holding on to posts and

doorjambs as we passed. Ordinarily I doubt if I could have handled him,

but that one sixteenth Irish that I possess was all on top, and I was

fighting mad. We burst into the kitchen, and I hastily looked about for

a means of chastisement. The pancake turner was the first utensil that

met my eyes. I seized it and beat that child with all my strength, until

I had reduced him to a cowering, whimpering mendicant for mercy, instead

of the fighting little bully he had been four minutes before.

And then who should suddenly burst into the midst of this explosion but

Dr. MacRae! His face was blank with astonishment. He strode over and

took the pancake turner out of my hand and set the boy on his feet.

Johnnie got behind him and clung! I was so angry that I really couldn't

talk. It was all I could do not to cry.

"Come, we will take him up to the office," was all the doctor said. And

we marched out, Johnnie keeping as far from me as possible and limping

conspicuously. We left him in the outer office, and went into my library

and shut the door.

"What in the world has the child done?" he asked.

At that I simply laid my head down on the table and began to cry! I was

utterly exhausted both emotionally and physically. It had taken all the

strength I possessed to make the pancake turner effective.

I sobbed out all the bloody details, and he told me not to think about

it; the mouse was dead now. Then he got me some water to drink, and told

me to keep on crying till I was tired; it would do me good. I am

not sure that he didn't pat me on the head! Anyway, it was his best

professional manner. I have watched him administer the same treatment a

dozen times to hysterical orphans. And this was the first time in a week

that we had spoken beyond the formality of "good morning"!