NOW, you just take a good look this here right fist of mine.

Looks like a ham, don't it? And see all them callouses on the palm. Ain't that a tool fit to break rock with? And what'd you say if I told you I used that once to hit that little, tender kid of mine? Actually hit her! What you say to that? I won't forgit that night soon, I tell you!

Just figger to yourself that it's sundown, and the blinds pulled down in the room where Deedee's cot was standin' like a little iron-barred cage. We got into the way of callin' the kid Deedee, that bein' what she called herself. There was all the signs that Deedee was goin' to sleep, and the plainest sign was Deedee herself, standin' up in her crib, wide awake, holdin' on to the foot of the crib, trampin' the sheets into a tangle of white underbrush, as you might say, and no more asleep than you are. The way Deedee went to sleep was like the death of an alligator—it was a long and strenuous affair.

Marthy stood lookin' at Deedee with reproaches in her eyes. We had a sort of tradition in the family that Deedee had to go to sleep quick and quiet, without any nonsense. Every night, when Marthy put the little white rascal in the crib, she had hopes that the tradition would come true, and every night it didn't. The go-to-sleep hour was the time Deedee seemed to pick out to have an hour of especial lively fun, and for weeks she had been breakin' the laws, and walkin' all over the rules with her pink feet. She did not see, comin' up over the horizon, and gittin' nearer every day, the stern and horrid Spank!

We had got together in a sort of family conclave and decided that Deedee was about old enough to be punished by layin' on of hands. We decided it one time when Deedee was out of the room, and we had been right stern about it. We could be stern about Deedee when she wasn't in sight. When she come smilin' and singin' along we generally had to quit bein' stern, and kiss her.

Deedee was twenty-two months old, and she was ninety-eight per cent, pure sweetness. Some of the women in our end of town said her short, curly hair was tow-colored, but it wasn't so—they was just envious of us. And one and all said her eyes was like round little bits of blue sky. It was clear enough that she had inherited her sweetness from Marthy; and some said it was equal clear that the two per cent, of unadulterated stubbornness come from me. I said so myself, but I didn't believe it.

Deedee was gittin' to be a regular person. She could tell what she wanted, and once in a while we could understand what it was. It was full time, everybody said, that her education had ought to begin. If she was goin' to grow up into a fine, sincere woman like Marthy, she must have the right kind of start. Just the night before the day of the Spank, Marthy had begun to teach her her religious education. Standin' up at Marthy's knee—for Deedee would not kneel to God or man—she had repeated:—

Anybody had ought to know that was:—

It was a fine success for a first start, only she didn't do what she said she was goin' to do and “lay me down to sleep.” Instead of that she stood up in her crib for about an hour, callin' for “Mamie,” the meanin' of which was that she wanted to be rocked and have Marthy sing “Mary had a little lamb,” to her.

The day of the Spank had a bad openin'. When Deedee woke up, along about five o'clock a.m., it was rainin' pitchforks, and that meant a day indoors, and to start off, she stood up in her crib and called for “laim.”

Marthy woke up sort of realizin' that Deedee was repeatin' that word slow, but regular, and she sat up and thought. “Laim” was a new word, and the meanin' of it was unknown, but, whatever it was, Deedee wanted it. She wanted it bad. Nothin' but “laim” would satisfy her.

Marthy studied that word good and hard. It did not seem to suggest anything to eat or drink, and, as near as Marthy could make out, it didn't rightly apply to any toy, game, song, person, or anything else. Marthy woke me up, and I sat up with a sigh. Deedee looked at me as if she thought she would git what she wanted now, sure.

“Laim, Deedee?” I asked, and she smiled as sweet as you please.

“Papa, laim!” she says again. “Laim!” I says, thoughtful, lookin' around the room and up at the ceilin'. I screwed up my forehead and studied, and twisted my neck to look into the next room. “Laim! What's a 'laim,' anyhow?”

“I give it up,” I says, after I'd thought of everything in the world, pretty near. “Mebby her grandpa would know. Mebby it's something he taught her.”

We lifted Deedee out of her crib, and set her down on the floor, and she pattered down the hall. We could hear her tellin' him to give her “laim,” and the puzzled way he answered her back.

“Laim, birdy? What is it? Say it again, Deedee. Laim? Grand-daddy don't know what you want, Deedee.”

Neither did Uncle Ed, who was stayin' with us about then. Nobody knew what “laim” was but Deedee, and she wanted it the worst way. She come back, and stood by Marthy's bed, and just begged for it.

It was a hard day for Marthy. It was Monday, and wash-day, so Deedee couldn't bother Katie in the kitchen, and it was rainin' too. Deedee just wandered through the house, like she had lost her last friend, and then she would come back to Marthy and ask for “laim.” She wouldn't have nothing to do with her toys, and she wouldn't sew with a pin, and she wouldn't sit at the table and write, and she wouldn't look at the photygraft book. And the worst of it was that she wouldn't keep still a minute.

By noon-time Marthy had a headache. By sundown she had “nerves,” and about then she began to look at Deedee with a sort of reproachful look. Deedee had said that unknown word about ten thousand times. Marthy put Deedee to bed in her crib, and I read once how Wellington, at Waterloo, in the big fight they had there, prayed for night or BlÜcher, and that was about how Marthy longed for the sandman or me to come. I was the one that come, at last. I come in the house wet to the skin, and plumb disgusted; my pants stickin' to my legs and all over mud, and I chucked my soakin' hat and my umbrelly into a corner, the way a tired-out man will, and just dropped into a chair, tuckered out. I let out one good, long sigh of thanks that I was at the end of a hard day.

“Hiram!” comes Marthy's voice; “Come in here, and see if you can do anything with Edith. I have worked with her all day, and I'm played out; I'm utter tired.”

“Oh, plague!” I says. I sat a minute, drummin' on the arm of my chair, and then I got upon my feet, and walked into the bedroom.

“What's the matter?” I says, as near cross as I calculate I ever git, and Marthy's eyes filled up.

“I can't do anything with her,” she says. “She won't go to sleep. She has been dreadful all day. I don't feel like I could stand it another minute.” Marthy threw herself on the bed and covered up her face with her hands. She was cryin'.

I guess I frowned.

Deedee looked up at me as sweet as a little angel.

“Papa, laim,” she says.

“No!” says I, “No laim, Deedee. You lie down and go to sleep like a good girl. Papa'll fix your pillow nice.”

I pounded up her pillow, and turned it over, and pulled the sheets out straight. Then I took the baby and laid her down gentle. She smiled and cuddled into the pillow.

“Oh, what a nice bed!” I says. “Ain't it a nice bed, Deedee?”

“Nice bed,” she allowed.

“Will I cover your feet?” I says.

“Feet cov,” she says, eager.

So I spread the sheet up over her feet.

“Shut little eyes,” I says in warning, but as gentle as you please, and she shut up her eyes so tight her eyelids wrinkled.

“Now, good night, Deedee,” I says.

“'Night, pa—pa!” she coos.

I stole out of the room as quiet as I knowed how, and dropped cautious into my chair. I leaned back and smiled sort of grim. “That shows,” I thinks, “that women ain't got the right kind of tact to handle a kid, or else they 've got catchin' nerves. It shows how easy a man can—”

“Papa, laim!”

Deedee's clear little voice just cut what I was thinkin' into two pieces. I was into that bedroom in about two steps. Deedee was standin' up in her crib.

“Papa, laim?” she says, sort of anxious.

“No!” I says, stern in earnest. “No laim!”

“Papa, laim!” she demands.

“No!” I says, in a way that froze her smile right where it was. She looked up at me doubtful-like, her little pink and white chin puckered up all ready to cry.

“Papa, laim, laim!” she pleaded.

I reached over and forced her right back on to her pillow.

“Deedee!” I says, in a voice that was new and that she wasn't acquainted with; “go to sleep! Be quiet! Stop this instant, or I will SPANK you!”

I guess, mebby, the angels kept on singin' as joyful as ever up in Heaven. I guess, mebby, somewhere out west further, the sun was shinin' down gay on noddin', careless flowers. Mebby, even in the next block, some good baby was bein' snuggled up in its ma's arms; but to Deedee, lyin' in the corner of her crib, the world had got a million years older in about a minute. Her world that had been all smiles and pleasant things had turned into a world of hard words and cruel faces. Her mama dear had on a mask of unfeelin' coldness. Her papa dear stood up there towerin' above her, a sort of giant of wrath, flourishin' an awful, mysterious weapon, the word “spank.”

It looked like everybody had gone back on her. Her friends—which was me and Marthy, her playmates—which was me and Marthy, her lovers—which was me and Marthy, the providers of her joy—which was me and Marthy, had turned into avengers. She was all alone in a world of clubs. Just one wee kid and everybody against her.

She lay there a minute palpitatin', with her chin tremblin' piteous. What was to be did when her parents vanished, and these strange, harsh people took their places?

She crep' to the foot of the crib, where I was still standin', and she got up and took hold of my arm and hugged it.

“Pa-pa!” she says, loving.

I pushed her back on the pillow again, gentle but firm.

“Edith,” I says in the hard voice she wasn't acquainted with; “Lie down and go to sleep. I don't want to have no more of this. Go to sleep!” I heard the dinner bell tinkle from the dinin'-room, and I helped Marthy to git up, and we went out, and left Deedee alone in the dark.

I ate the first part of my dinner without sayin' anything. It wasn't exactly easy to be lively under them circumstances. Even Uncle Ned didn't say nothin', and grand-daddy didn't feel called on to start a conversation. It got so we was so quiet it hurt. Uncle Ed made bold to speak.

“When I was a kid,” he says, lightly, “I used to git spanked with a six-inch plank.”

“Edward!” says Marthy. “How can you say such a thing?”

“It done me good,” he says. “You can't begin too young. We 've all got the devil in us, and the only way to git it out is to pound it out.”

Marthy laid down her fork, and her lips trembled.

“Cut that out, Ed,” I says. “Marthy has the nerves to-night; the subject ain't popular.”

“I think she's goin' to be good now,” says grand-daddy, who always stuck up for the kid bein' the best that ever lived. “She seems quiet enough. She must have gone off to sleep.”

“I sure do hope so,” says Marthy. “I never had such a day with her.” “Mama, laim!” came the little voice from the bedroom, of a sudden.

“I met Tuomy to-day,” I says, “and he—”

“Mama, laim! Mama, laim!” called Deedee.

“He asked to be remembered to you,” I says. “He was with May Wilson—”

From the bedroom come a low, maddenin' wail:—

“Mama, laim! Papa, laim!”

It kept gittin' louder. It got to be a regular cry, punctuated off here and there with calls for “laim.”

Marthy looked at me, hopeless. I seen the look and looked down at my plate.

“I'll spank her when I'm done my dinner,” I says. “There's no other way.”

We didn't say much durin' the rest of that meal. It was a very solemn feast. We was all thinkin' of Deedee. There wasn't no doubt that the time had come we had been afraid of. The punishment and the crime was properly fitted to each other.

Now, or never, was the time to spank; but we was a ridiculous tender-hearted family, and, as the dinner went on, the spankin' of Deedee loomed up bigger than Pike's Peak. It piled up huge and record-breakin' above the tea-pots and the puddin's, and looked about as important as the end of the world, or a big war.

When we got up it was like the condemned goin' to the execution, and we marched into the front room like a jury, bringin' in the death verdict, files into the court room.

Deedee still cried for “laim.”

We four sat down, and looked at the carpet, as gloomy as a funeral. I opened my mouth, swallowed hard two times, and shut it again. Uncle Edward tapped on the carpet with his toe, grand-daddy looked at one of the spots on the same carpet like it was a personal insult to him, and Marthy smoothed out one of the roses on it with her heel. We wasn't half so interested in that carpet when we bought it as we looked to be that very minute.

“Well?” says Marthy, at last. I kept my eye away from hers. I looked out of the window. Next I got up and stood by the window and stuck my hands deep down into my pants pockets.

“If you 're goin' to—” says Marthy. “If you ain't—”

Deedee was gittin' too bad to stand. It looked as if the neighbors would be comin' in to complain, next thing.

I turned around and walked slow toward the bedroom. The three other grown-ups sat like stone statures. As I pushed aside the curtains, Marthy jumped across the room and grabbed me by the arm.

“Hiram!” she cried eager, “You won't be too severe? You won't git mad and hurt her?”

“Marthy,” I says, “if you want to spank her, do so. If you want me to spank her, don't you mix in.” I shook her hand off of me, and she went back to her chair cryin'.

Well, I went into that bedroom. Deedee left off cryin' when she seen me, and in the dim light I could see her standin' in the crib. I stuck out my hand to take her, and she hung on to it.

“Papa, laim!” she begged.

“Edith,” I says, hoarse in my throat, “you 've been naughty. Papa told you to go to sleep, and mama told you to go to sleep. When we tell you to go to sleep, you've got to go to sleep. Now, this is the last time I'm goin' to tell you. Will you lie down and go to sleep?”

“Papa, laim!” she says, impatient.

I set my mouth and lifted her up and laid her on the bed on her face and held her there. She struggled and yelled.

“Be quiet!” I says, “be quiet, or I will spank you!”

She gave one long, lingerin' cry for “laim.”

I took a long breath, and lifted up my hand, and—and—I ain't a-goin' to tell about that. Let's go into the other room.

There set the three other grownups, holdin' their hands over their ears, with pained lookin' faces. Even at that they heard the sound of a dozen short, sharp claps, and the sound of the quick cries, and then there was a silent spell, only broke by the great big sobs of the little kid in the next room,—sobs that sort of exploded their way out, shakin' the little body till the crib rattled.

The sobbin' got weaker and weaker, and come further apart, and I stole out of the bedroom, wipin' my face with my handkerchief.

“I think she'll be a good girly now,” says grand-daddy, gentle-like.

That baby, shocked and surprised, laid on the pillow thinkin', as much as a baby could think. Something cruel and unexpected had happened to her.

Me and Marthy had turned cruel. She didn't have no one to love up to. She had been hurt. Her papa dear had hurt her, because she had cried for “laim.”

“I hope she will,” says Marthy in reply to grand-daddy, and that minute from the bedroom, come Deedee's voice.

“Papa!” it pleaded.

I jumped up from my chair. Evidently that child needed—

“Papa, kiss!” says Deedee, soft and pleadin'.

Well, I rather guess we all kissed her! We hugged her until she was gaspin' for breath, and she smiled at us, and forgive us all, even while the sobs come once in a while to interfere with her smilin'.

“Ain't she a dear, dear baby?” cried Marthy. “Poor little thing!”

When we had loved her enough to spoil any good the spankin' had done, Marthy drove us out.

“Come, deary,” she says to Deedee, “say your little prayers, mama forgot.”

Deedee pressed up against her ma's knee, joyous.

“Now I—” Marthy prompts her.

“Nowee—” says Deedee.

“Lay me—” says Marthy.

“Laim,” says Deedee, tickled as you please, and then wonderin' why the whole lot of us shouts out “Laim!” of a sudden, and why we laugh, and crowd 'round her, and kiss her, and kiss her!

“Poor baby!” says Marthy. “To be spanked for wantin' to say her prayers!”

“By George!” says Uncle Edward. “Talk about your martyrs! She beats the whole bunch!”

And to think there was once a time when me and Marthy thought a kid was more bother than it was worth! There ain't no child, nowhere, that ain't worth more than everything else in the world all put together. No, sir! A baby has got more human nature in it than a man has, even. You take your big, rough hand to it, and you chastise it, so that it screams out, and the next minute it takes time in between sobs to hug its soft little arms around your neck, and kiss you. Ain't that the reallest kind of human nature? Why, that's the kind that makes the world worth livin' in at all.

I don't seem to recollect ever hearin' that Heaven was set aside as a sort of place where married folks could hang about by twos. Them that has had experience knows that that would be a mighty poor kind of heaven—one without children in it. It's the child kind of human nature that sweetens up the world. The “give and take” kind—take your spankin' when it comes, and give back love in return for it.