This same aunt had three boys of her own, later on, and a more disreputable-looking crew it would be hard to find.  I confess that I took a deal of grim satisfaction in their dilapidated ensemble, just for my aunt’s benefit, of course.  They were fine, wholesome, natural boys in spite of their parentage, and I liked them even while I gloried in their cuts, bruises, and dirt.  At that time I was wearing a necktie and had my shoes polished but, even so, I yearned to join with them in their debauch of sand, mud, and general indifference to convention.  They are fine, upstanding young chaps now, and of course their mother thinks that her scolding, nagging, and baiting made them so.  They know better, but are too kind and considerate to reveal the truth to their mother.

Even yet I have something like admiration for the ingenuity of my elders in conjuring up spooks, hob-goblins, and bugaboos with which to scare me into submission.  I conformed, of course, but I never gave them a high grade in veracity.  I yielded simply to gain time, for I knew where there was a chipmunk in a hole, and was eager to get to digging him out just as soon as my apparent submission for a brief time had proved my complete regeneration.  They used to tell me that children should be seen but not heard, and I knew they wanted to do the talking.  I often wonder whether their notion of a good child would have been satisfactorily met if I had suddenly become paralyzed, or ossified, or petrified.  In either of these cases I could have been seen but not heard.  One day, not long ago, when I felt at peace with all the world and was comfortably free from care, a small, thumb-sucking seven-year-old asked:  “How long since the world was born?” After I told him that it was about four thousand years he worked vigorously at his thumb for a time, and then said:  “That isn’t very long.”  Then I wished I had said four millions, so as to reduce him to silence, for one doesn’t enjoy being routed and put to confusion by a seven-year-old.

After quite a silence he asked again:  “What was there before the world was born?” That was an easy one; so I said in a tone of finality:  “There wasn’t anything.”  Then I went on with my meditations, thinking I had used the soft pedal effectively.  Silence reigned supreme for some minutes, and then was rudely shattered.  His thumb flew from his mouth, and he laughed so lustily that he could be heard throughout the house.  When his laughter had spent itself somewhat, I asked meekly:  “What are you laughing at?” His answer came on the instant, but still punctuated with laughter:  “I was laughing to see how funny it was when there wasn’t anything.”  No wonder that folks want children to be seen but not heard.  And some folks are scandalized because a chap like that doesn’t like to wash his neck and ears.

CHAPTER XVIII

PICNICS