There was nothing to fear, for the man was always so gentle, so
kind. At night when the little girl and her brother were bathed in the light
of the big shaded bulb that hung over the big study table in the
downstairs hall, the man would knock gently on the door, and come in. he
would stand for a while just beyond the pool of light, his feet in the circle
of illumination, the rest of him in shadow. The little girl and her brother
would look up at him where they sat at the big table, their eyes bright in
the bright light, and watch him come fully into the light, but his voice soft,
his manner slow. He would smell very faintly of sweat and pomade, but
the children didn’t mind although they did notice, for they waited for him
every evening as they sat at their lessons like this. He’d throw his visored
cap on the table, and it would fall down with a soft plop, then he’d nod his
head to say one was right, or shake it to say one was wrong.
