“Why do you let them come here at all?”

For the friends of the family, who came there on an equal footing, he showed more respect, and for a few of them he felt a real liking.  As a rule, however, they inspired him with nothing but indifference, and his one reason for greeting them with some approach at cordiality was that they brought a change into the general monotony of the home, and that their coming might lead to the distribution of some dainties out of the ordinary.  Some of his parents’ friends were poor and growing poorer.  Others had the appearance of doing well and hoping for more.  It made no difference to Keith.  They were all middle-aged, sedate and preoccupied with their own little affairs.  They tried to be nice to him, but they did not interest him, and his main grievance against them—­not clearly understood by any means—­was that they brought nothing into his life of what he wanted.

Had he been asked what he wanted, he would have answered unhesitatingly: 

“Some one to play with.”

XXII

Having whined and nagged until his mother no longer could bear it, Keith at last obtained the cherished permission to go and play in the lane.

“But look out for horses,” warned his mother as he stood in the doorway ready to run.  “And don’t run out of sight, and you must come when I call, and—­you had better keep away from other boys, or you may come home quite naked this time.”

“What do you mean,” asked Keith, turning to see whether the mother was joking or talking seriously.

“Don’t you recall when those boys took your coat from you, and you came up here crying?”

There could be no mistake about her meaning just what she said.  Keith stood still thinking very hard.  Here was another memory that he could not remember at all.  There was not a trace of it left in his mind, and yet it must have happened.  It sounded exciting, too, and he wished to know all about it.

“You had better close the door,” his mother suggested.

“All right,” said Keith, hastening to close the door from the outside and make a dive for the stairway.  There would be plenty of time to ask about the loss of his coat later.  He was halfway down the first flight when he heard the kitchen door open behind him, and his heart leapt into his throat.

“You must go down the stairs quietly,” his mother called out from above, whereupon Keith’s heart resumed its normal position.

He descended the rest of that flight on tip-toe.  The second one was taken more rapidly, and down the last one he went two steps at a time, the little iron plates under his heels hitting the stones with a ring that echoed through the old house.

In the lane he found them loading a dray in front of the distillery, and he started across to watch the men straining at the next barrel.  He had hardly taken a step in that direction, however, when a loud pop was heard from the black cave forming the entrance to the distillery.  It was followed first by a single cry, and then by a hubbub of voices.  A second later a young man came running out and threw himself prone into the gutter, where a trickle of water was to be seen.