evidently thinking of his troubles.

Sympathetically, I was wondering how far the child had separated husband
and wife. There was the making of a tragedy here, I thought; but when
Stott, after another period of pacing up and down, began to speak again
I found that his tragedy was of another kind.

"Learn _'im_ bowling!" he said, and laughed a mirthless laugh. "My Gawd!
it 'ud take something. No fear; that little game's off. And I could a'
done it if he'd been a decent or'nery child, 'stead of a blarsted freak.
There won't never be another, neither. This one pretty near killed the
missus. Doctor said it'd be 'er last.... With an 'ead like that, whacher
expect?"

"Can he walk?" I asked.

"Ah! Gets about easy enough for all 'is body and legs is so small. When
the missus tries to stop 'im--she's afraid 'e'll go over--'e just looks
at 'er and she 'as to let 'im 'ave 'is own way."

II

Later, I reverted to that speech of the child's, that intelligent,
illuminating speech that seemed to prove that there was indeed a
powerful, thoughtful mind behind those profoundly speculative eyes.

"That time he spoke, Stott," I said, "was he alone?"

"Ah!" assented Stott. "In the garden, practisin' walkin' all by
'imself."

"Was that the only time?"

"Only time _I've_ 'eard 'im."

"Was it lately?"

"'Bout six weeks ago."

"And he has never made a sound otherwise, cried, laughed?"

"'Ardly. 'E gives a sort o' grunt sometimes, when 'e wants anything--and
points."

"He's very intelligent."

"Worse than that, 'e's a freak, I tell you."

With the repetition of this damning description, Stott fell back into
his moody pacing, and this time I failed to rouse him from his gloom.
"Oh! forget it," he broke out once, when I asked him another question,
and I saw that he was not likely to give me any more information that
day.

We walked back together, and I said good-bye to him at the end of the
lane which led up to his cottage.

"Not comin' up?" he asked, with a nod of his head towards his home.

"Well! I have to catch that train ..." I prevaricated, looking at my
watch. I did not wish to see that child again; my distaste was even
stronger than my curiosity.

Stott grinned. "We don't 'ave many visitors," he said. "Well, I'll come
a bit farther with you."

He came to the bottom of the hill, and after he left me he took the road
that goes over the hill to Wenderby. It would be about seven miles back
to Pym by that road..