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her own； because informed with passion； possessed of convictions；
involved in great affairs created out of my own substance for an
anxiously meditated end。
She remained silent for a while； then said with a last glance all
round at the litter of the fray：
〃And you sit like this here writing youryour。 。 。〃
〃Iwhat？ Oh； yes； I sit here all day。〃
〃It must be perfectly delightful。〃
I suppose that； being no longer very young； I might have been on
the verge of having a stroke； but she had left her dog in the
porch； and my boy's dog； patrolling the field in front； had
espied him from afar。 He came on straight and swift like a
cannon…ball； and the noise of the fight； which burst suddenly
upon our ears； was more than enough to scare away a fit of
apoplexy。 We went out hastily and separated the gallant animals。
Afterwards I told the lady where she would find my wifejust
round the corner； under the trees。 She nodded and went off with
her dog； leaving me appalled before the death and devastation she
had lightly madeand with the awfully instructive sound of the
word 〃delightful〃 lingering in my ears。
Nevertheless； later on； I duly escorted her to the field gate。 I
wanted to be civil； of course （what are twenty lives in a mere
novel that one should be rude to a lady on their account？）； but
mainly； to adopt the good sound Ollendorffian style； because I
did not want the dog of the general's daughter to fight again
（encore） with the faithful dog of my infant son （mon petit
garcon）。Was I afraid that the dog of the general's daughter
would be able to overcome （vaincre） the dog of my child？No； I
was not afraid。 。 。But away with the Ollendorff method。 However
appropriate and seemingly unavoidable when I touch upon anything
appertaining to the lady； it is most unsuitable to the origin；
character and history of the dog； for the dog was the gift to the
child from a man for whom words had anything but an Ollendorffian
value； a man almost childlike in the impulsive movements of his
untutored genius； the most single…minded of verbal
impressionists； using his great gifts of straight feeling and
right expression with a fine sincerity and a strong if； perhaps；
not fully conscious conviction。 His art did not obtain； I fear；
all the credit its unsophisticated inspiration deserved。 I am
alluding to the late Stephen Crane； the author of 〃The Red Badge
of Courage；〃 a work of imagination which found its short moment
of celebrity in the last decade of the departed century。 Other
books followed。 Not many。 He had not the time。 It was an
individual and complete talent； which obtained but a grudging；
somewhat supercilious recognition from the world at large。 For
himself one hesitates to regret his early death。 Like one of the
men in his 〃Open Boat；〃 one felt that he was of those whom fate
seldom allows to make a safe landing after much toil and
bitterness at the oar。 I confess to an abiding affection for
that energetic； slight； fragile； intensely living and transient
figure。 He liked me even before we met on the strength of a page
or two of my writing； and after we had met I am glad to think he
liked me still。 He used to point out to me with great
earnestness； and even with some severity； that 〃a boy ought to
have a dog。〃 I suspect that he was shocked at my neglect of
parental duties。 Ultimately it was he who provided the dog。
Shortly afterwards； one day； after playing with the child on the
rug for an hour or so with the most intense absorption； he raised
his head and declared firmly： 〃I shall teach your boy to ride。〃
That was not to be。 He was not given the time。
But here is the dogan old dog now。 Broad and low on his bandy
paws； with a black head on a white body and a ridiculous black
spot at the other end of him； he provokes； when he walks abroad；
smiles not altogether unkind。 Grotesque and engaging in the
whole of his appearance； his usual attitudes are meek； but his
temperament discloses itself unexpectedly pugnacious in the
presence of his kind。 As he lies in the firelight； his head well
up； and a fixed； far…away gaze directed at the shadows of the
room； he achieves a striking nobility of pose in the calm
consciousness of an unstained life。 He has brought up one baby；
and now； after seeing his first charge off to school； he is
bringing up another with the same conscientious devotion； but
with a more deliberate gravity of manner； the sign of greater
wisdom and riper experience； but also of rheumatism； I fear。
From the morning bath to the evening ceremonies of the cot you
attend； old friend； the little two…legged creature of your
adoption； being yourself treated in the exercise of your duties
with every possible regard； with infinite consideration； by every
person in the houseeven as I myself am treated； only you
deserve it more。 The general's daughter would tell you that it
must be 〃perfectly delightful。〃
Aha！ old dog。 She never heard you yelp with acute pain （it's
that poor left ear） the while； with incredible self…command； you
preserve a rigid immobility for fear of overturning the little
two…legged creature。 She has never seen your resigned smile when
the little two…legged creature； interrogated sternly； 〃What are
you doing to the good dog？〃 answers with a wide； innocent stare：
〃Nothing。 Only loving him； mamma dear！〃
The general's daughter does not know the secret terms of self…
imposed tasks； good dog； the pain that may lurk in the very
rewards of rigid self…command。 But we have lived together many
years。 We have grown older； too； and though our work is not
quite done yet we may indulge now and then in a little
introspection before the firemeditate on the art of bringing up
babies and on the perfect delight of writing tales where so many
lives come and go at the cost of one which slips imperceptibly
away。
Chapter VI。
In the retrospect of a life which had； besides its preliminary
stage of childhood and early youth； two distinct developments；
and even two distinct elements； such as earth and water； for its
successive scenes； a certain amount of naiveness is unavoidable。
I am conscious of it in these pages。 This remark is put forward
in no apologetic spirit。 As years go by and the number of pages
grows steadily； the feeling grows upon one too that one can write
only for friends。 Then why should one put them to the necessity
of protesting （as a friend would do） that no apology is
necessary； or put； p