" My fellow-guest was a large doll braced stiffly in its
chair; a doll whose waxen face had been gouged by vandal nails. That was
an old tragedy, though a sickening one at the time. The doll had been my
Christmas offering to the woman child, and in the dusk of that joyous
day my namesake had craved of its proud mother the boon of holding it a
little while. Relinquished trustingly to him, he had sat with it by a
cheerful fire--without evil intent, I do truly believe. Surely it was
by chance that he found its waxen face softening under the stove's
glow--and has Heaven affixed nails to any boy of seven that, in a dusky
room at a quiet moment, would have behaved with more restraint? I trow
not. One surprised dig and all was lost. Of that fair surface of rounded
cheek, fattened chin, and noble brow not a square inch was left
ungouged. It was indeed a face of evil suggestion that the unsuspecting
mother took back.
That was the evening when the Crowders, living next door, had rushed
over in the belief that my woman child was being murdered. The criminal
had never been able to advance the shadow of a reason or excuse for his
mad act. He seemed to be as honestly puzzled by it as the rest of us,
though I rejoice to say that he was not left without reason to deplore
it.
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