Growth of a Man. Mazo de la Roche

a postage stamp you can’t jump off it clear across the mud puddle. I bet you’re afraid to try.”

      “You wait and see! I’ll jump across it and land three feet beyond the puddle.”

      All the boys were impressed. No boy had ever jumped off the roof of the shed. It was steep and high and the mud puddle beside it was edged by a rough stony space. Ian capered like a Red Indian, rousing himself to recklessness.

      “I bet Shaw can’t jump across the puddle! I bet he can’t! He’ll fall in on his head! I bet you a postage stamp you can’t do it, Shaw!”

      “You go first.”

      School was over. The teacher and the girls were gone. The boys jumped and shouted in their excitement.

      Ian mounted the roof from the fence that stood behind. Up there it was slippery and steep. For an instant his courage failed. Then he took a flying leap, his fair hair on end, and landed in the middle of the puddle.

      He clambered out plastered with mud, and did a war dance. The other boys were delighted. Only one thing was lacking, to see Shaw in the same condition.

      “Your turn, Shaw! Go it! Why are you turning down your stockings, Shaw?”

      “I don’t want to tear the knees when I land on the stones.”

      He clambered on to the roof. His face was surprisingly pale and set as he looked down on his schoolfellows. He gathered himself together and, collecting all his strength, jumped from the roof, clear across the puddle, and landed on hands and knees on the dry stony ground. It was well that he had turned down his stockings, for his knees were cut and bleeding. So were his palms. He pressed his hands together and faced Ian.

      “I’ve won,” he said. “Don’t forget the stamp.”

      As Ian’s landing in the puddle and his capers afterward had endeared him to the other boys, Shaw’s victory and his unsmiling reminder to Ian estranged them. There was something about him they could not understand and consequently disliked.

      Ian answered teasingly—“I’m not allowed to bet. It’s wicked. I’m a minister’s son.”

      “You bet me,” said Shaw fiercely, “and you’ve got to pay!”

      “Skinflint! Skinflint! Greedy-guts!” shouted the boys, beginning to be hostile.

      Ian laughed. “Dinna fash yersel’, laddie,” he said, in broad Scots. “Sairtainly I’ll pay.”

      The next morning he brought the stamp, stuck to an envelope for safety, to school.

      “I’m on the steep downward path,” he said. “First I bet and then I stole.”

      “Did you steal the stamp?” asked Shaw.

      “Well, I sort of took it.”

      That day Shaw posted the letter to his mother. It read:—

      DEAR MAMMA,

      Thank you for the new suit. I wore it to the Manse to take Esther’s cake. I am working hard at my lessons. I am the head of my class especially in arithmetic and history. I hope you are getting on well too.

      Your loving son,

      SHAW MANIFOLD

      P.S. I hope you will come to the girls’ wedding. They hope you will bring them presents.

      After the posting of the letter Shaw waited with impatience for some news of his mother. No one seemed to know whether or not she was coming. Every spare moment was given to preparations for the double event. Curtains were washed, windows cleaned, carpets beaten. Masses of muslin, organdie, and homemade lace hung on the backs of chairs and sprawled over tables. It seemed to Shaw that, if he woke in the middle of the night, he heard women’s voices talking below. The prospective grooms seemed suddenly of no account. Letitia and Beatrice were everything.

      The household was caught up in a strange spell. Shaw might not have existed for all the notice that was taken of him. He worked almost ceaselessly at his school books.

      Then, as though without warning, the wedding day was upon them. It was a fair day in October, with ruddy sunshine and a sighing breeze. Along the ditches and in the corners of the fields the dusky yellow of the goldenrod blazed. Pyramids of red and yellow apples rose beneath the orchard trees. Roger Gower said, at breakfast:—

      “Someone’s got to meet Cristabel. Her train arrives at nine o’clock.”

      Shaw’s heart seemed to turn over in its sudden wild beating. “Can I go to the station too?” he pleaded.

      Luke put in—“I’ve got a lot to do.”

      “I don’t see how I can meet her,” said Mark.

      “Shaw can drive the buggy to the station as well as not,” said Herbert. “Let him go by himself.”

      At that moment Shaw loved Herbert. Roger Gower considered the matter in deep silence for a space. Then he said:—

      “Harness the mare to the buggy, Shaw, and meet your mother. Be there in plenty of time.”

      “And no monkey tricks on the way,” said Herbert.

      “For goodness’ sake,” cried Letitia, looking at the clock. “It’s six o’clock already!”

      Shaw was at the railway station long before the train was due. He could scarcely believe in himself, walking up and down the platform like a man, now and again stopping before the door of the waiting room to glance in at the clock.

      The time of waiting did not seem long. As he paced up and down the platform he saw the scattered few who waited like himself look long at his trousers and sleeves, impressed by them. Over and over again he wondered what his mother would say when she saw him. She would scarcely know him, grown as he was and wearing the new suit. She would probably take him for Mark or Luke.

      He heard the whistle of the train at the next crossing. The people moved closer to the platform, gripping their packages. Shaw’s heart beat quickly.

      Now the wheels spun into view, a shining streak beneath the bulk of the locomotive. The freight cars thundered in, laden with bales and fat steers going to market. There were only two passenger cars and when the train stopped Shaw ran alongside, getting in people’s way, looking for his mother.

      He saw her coming toward him smiling. He felt himself suddenly weak at the sight of her, as though he were a tiny child again. But when she put her arm about his shoulder and kissed his cheek, strength surged into him. He tore the suitcase from her hand and led the way to the buggy. He tingled with self-consciousness, knowing how her eyes must be fixed on the new suit.

      But when they had reached the buggy and he looked up into her eyes he saw that they were swimming in tears.

      “Mamma,” he asked wistfully, “don’t you think the suit fits me?”

      “I think it’s beautiful on you,” she said.

      His heart sang as the mare eagerly trotted homeward.

      “Weren’t you surprised when I met you at the station?”

      “I was awfully surprised.”

      “I guess you thought I was one of the big fellows.”

      “Well, I pretty near did.”

      “I guess you thought you’d a grown-up son when you saw these pants.”

      “I guess I did.”

      “I guess you were sort of puzzled about who the young man was.”

      “I had to think hard for a minute.”

      “Oh, Mamma, did you really?” He laughed joyously. He took the whip from the socket and flicked the mare on the shoulder. Her big hoofs sent up a cloud of dust.

      “I suppose all the folks are working hard getting ready for the