"Sh-sh--don't make a fuss," she said, meeting him in the hall. "Little boys must be seen and not heard. Go and put that ball away. You might break something. Never mind that cat. Get out of my way. I wonder what your mother can be thinking about."
"Tommie," his mother called from a neighboring room.
"Oh, let him alone, I pray you," said the proprietor's wife, inclining her head and smiling at the mother, who had appeared in the doorway. "I was simply afraid that he might break something with his ball, but do let him enjoy himself, I beseech you. Children will be children, you know."
"I do hope he won't cause you any trouble," the mother replied. "I do the very best I can with him, but--I--I--come here, son."
She reached out, took the boy by the hand, and drew him into the room.
"Because you are so bad, darling," she replied, taking him into her arms.
"But you are. You seem to make everybody miserable."
He climbed up on a trunk, twisted himself around, tore his clothes, got down, killed a fly on the window pane, picked up a feather which he found in a corner, threw it up and blew his breath upon it, turned over a work-basket, climbed upon the bed where his mother had lain down, put his hands on her face, gazed with mischievous tenderness into her eyes, and said:
She clasped him to her bosom. "You'll be a good boy, won't you?"
"Yessum, an' when that nigger makes a face at me, I won't say anything."
"An' musn't I grab holt of the calf's tail when he shoves it through the fence?"
"Oh, because it will hurt him. Let mamma go to sleep now, but don't you go out."
The woman sank to sleep. The boy got off the bed and went to the window. He looked up at a fly that was buzzing at the top, went back to the bed, gently kissed his mother, and stole out into the hall. Exuberant with freedom, he began to gallop in imitation of a horse.
He was confronted by the proprietor's wife. "What are you racing around here like a mule for--say? Don't you know you are wearing out the carpet? Why don't you go somewhere and sit down and behave like a human being? Think I bought this carpet to have it scuffed out this way? Stop raking your foot on the floor that way."
He held up his hands as if, in begging for forgiveness, he would kiss her. "Don't put your greasy hands on me. Go on, now, and don't rake your feet on this carpet. I don't know what mothers these days can be thinking about."