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crimson on his cheek. For once in his lifetime, he suddenly defied his wife. He pointed to the child.

ā€œYes, look!ā€ His voice rang clearly. ā€œI did it. I vaccinated you the night the cordial put you to sleep. And thereā€™s my son. Heā€™s strong. Stronger than a lionā€™s cub. And heā€™ll increase in strength as he grows until Samson and Hercules would be pygmies beside him. Heā€™ll be the first of a new and glorious race. A race that doesnā€™t have to fearā ā€”because it cannot know harm. No man can hurt him, no man can vanquish him. He will be mightier than any circumstances. He, son of a weak man, will be stronger than the beasts, even than the ancient dinosaurs, stronger than the tides, stronger than fateā ā€”strong as God is strong. And youā ā€”you, Matildaā ā€”mother of him, will be proud of him. He will be great and famous. You can knock me down. You can knock me down a thousand times. I have given you a son whose little finger you cannot bend with a crowbar. Oh, all these years Iā€™ve listened to you and obeyed you andā ā€”yes, Iā€™ve feared you a littleā ā€”and God must hate me for it. Now take your son. And my son. You cannot change him. You cannot bend him to your will. He is all I might have been. All that mankind should be.ā€ Dannerā€™s voice broke and he sobbed. He relented. ā€œI know itā€™s hard for you. Itā€™s against your religionā ā€”against your love, even. But try to like him. Heā€™s no different from you and meā ā€”only stronger. And strength is a glorious thing, a great thing. Thenā ā€”afterwardsā ā€”if you canā ā€”forgive me.ā€ He collapsed.

Blood pounded in her ears. She stared at the huddled body of her husband. He had stood like a prophet and spoken words of fire. She was shaken from her pettiness. For one moment she had loved Danner. In that same instant she had glimpsed the superhuman energy that had driven him through the long years of discouragement to triumph. She had seen his soul. She fell at his feet, and when Danner opened his eyes, he found her there, weeping. He took her in his arms, timidly, clumsily. ā€œDonā€™t cry, Mattie. Itā€™ll be all right. You love him, donā€™t you?ā€

She stared at the babe. ā€œOf course I love him. Wash your face, Abednego.ā€

After that there was peace in the house, and with it the child grew. During the next months they ignored his peculiarities. When they found him hanging outside his crib, they put him back gently. When he smashed the crib, they discussed a better place for him to repose. No hysteria, no conflict. When, in the early spring, young Hugo began to recognize them and to assert his feelings, they rejoiced as all parents rejoice.

When he managed to vault the sill of the second-story window by some antic contortion of his limbs, they dismissed the episode. Mrs. Danner had been baking. She heard the childā€™s voice and it seemed to come from the yard. Startled, incredulous, she rushed upstairs. Hugo was not in his room. His wail drifted through the window. She looked out. He was lying in the yard, fifteen feet below. She rushed to his side. He had not been hurt.

Danner made a pen of the iron heads and feet of two old beds. He wired them together. The baby was kept in the inclosure thus formed. The days warmed and lengthened. No one except the Danners knew of the prodigy harboured by their unostentatious house. But the secret was certain to leak out eventually.

Mrs. Nolan, the next-door neighbour, was first to learn it. She had called on Mrs. Danner to borrow a cup of sugar. The call, naturally, included a discussion of various domestic matters and a visit to the baby. She voiced a question that had occupied her mind for some time.

ā€œWhy do you keep the child in that iron thing? Arenā€™t you afraid it will hurt itself?ā€

ā€œOh, no.ā€

Mrs. Nolan viewed young Hugo. He was lying on a large pillow. Presently he rolled off its surface. ā€œActive youngster, isnā€™t he?ā€

ā€œVery,ā€ Mrs. Danner said, nervously.

Hugo, as if he understood and desired to demonstrate, seized a corner of the pillow and flung it from him. It traversed a long arc and landed on the floor. Mrs. Nolan was startled. ā€œGoodness! I never saw a child his age that could do that!ā€

ā€œNo. Letā€™s go downstairs. I want to show you some tidies Iā€™m making.ā€

Mrs. Nolan paid no attention. She put the pillow back in the pen and watched while Hugo tossed it out. ā€œThereā€™s something funny about that. It isnā€™t normal. Have you seen a doctor?ā€

Mrs. Danner fidgeted. ā€œOh, yes. Little Hugoā€™s healthy.ā€

Little Hugo grasped the iron wall of his miniature prison. He pulled himself toward it. His skirt caught in the floor. He pulled harder. The pen moved toward him. A high soprano came from Mrs. Nolan. ā€œHeā€™s moved it! I donā€™t think I could move it myself! I tell you, Iā€™m going to ask the doctor to examine him. You shouldnā€™t let a child be like that.ā€

Mrs. Danner, filled with consternation, sought refuge in prevarication. ā€œNonsense,ā€ she said as calmly as she could. ā€œAll we Douglases are like that. Strong children. I had a grandfather who could lift a cider keg when he was fiveā ā€”two hundred pounds and more. Hugo just takes after him, thatā€™s all.ā€

Mrs. Nolan was annoyed. Partly because she was jealous of Hugoā€™s prowessā ā€”her own children had been feeble and dull. Partly because she was frightenedā ā€”no matter how strong a person became, a baby had no right to be so powerful. Partly because she sensed that Mrs. Danner was not telling the whole truth. She suspected that the Danners had found a new way to raise children. ā€œWell,ā€ she said, ā€œall I have to say is that itā€™ll damage him. Itā€™ll strain his little heart. Itā€™ll do him a lot of harm. If I had a child like that, Iā€™d tie it up most of the time for the first few years.ā€

ā€œKate,ā€ Mrs. Danner said unpleasantly, ā€œI

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