# The Loom of Destiny/The Honour of the House of Hummerley

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THE HONOUR OF THE HOUSE
OF HUMMERLEY
An' some as this, an' some as that,
We drifts to th' ends of th' Earth;
An' if One turns 'Ome, it's Ten forgets:
W'ich shows their gawdless birth!
THE HONOUR OF THE HOUSE OF HUMMERLEY
HHIS real name was Hugh Edward Hummerley, but they called him Tiddlywinks for short.
As the son of an English major who once had fought real battles in India, and who now built the biggest bridges and the deepest canals in all the world, Tiddlywinks took life very seriously. Eighteen years in the Service had given Tiddlywinks' papa very deep-rooted ideas on the value of discipline, and people pitied Tiddlywinks, as a rule, and said that his father was too strict with the child. But then people did n't understand. He might have been just a little afraid of his papa at times, knowing that his spoken word was Law, but for all that the child loved him with a love that was unutterable in its depth.
So when Major Hummerley started away ​from Lonehurst for two years, to build one of his wonderful canals somewhere in South America, which was almost as far away as India itself, Tiddlywinks was unspeakably heavy of heart. His papa, in saying good-bye, had pointed out to him that he would be the only man left at home, as Harrington, his big brother, was at Princeton most of the year, and could not be around to take care of things. Harrington was really not his brother, but just his step-brother, for his own mother was not much older than Hal; but then it was just the same as being brothers.
So when Tiddlywinks remembered that he was the only man left with his mother at Lonehurst, it was natural he should regard himself as the guardian and protector of the house of Hummerley, and consequently take both life and himself quite seriously.
But over and above all this, when his papa was saying those last good-byes to the weeping and broken-hearted Tiddlywinks and his mamma, he laughingly told the child that thereafter it should be his grave and solemn duty to look after and watch over his other, ​and always be good to her and make her happy. Being the only man at home, his father went on with mock-seriousness, it was expected that he, Tiddlywinks, should carry out these last despatches and duly deliver the said mamma safely over into his hands at the end of the two years. All of this the weeping and unhappy Tiddlywinks took with the utmost seriousness, and solemnly promised to do, even though his father laughed as he bent down and kissed Tiddlywinks' mamma on the cheek, as the brougham came round the drive and the boxes were piled on the seat.
Tiddlywinks finished his weep, nevertheless, for he loved his father with a mighty love, and his heart was aching with the thought of being left alone in the big house. He knew that as soon as Hal went back to Princeton a terrible loneliness would settle down on that homestead of Hummerley. He was not really alone, of course, but then, he had always been half afraid of his mamma, who always wore the most wonderful and beautiful dresses, and had never been the same to him since the summer she left him ​with the German nurse and went away, across the ocean, for a whole year. Since then she seemed to be always telling poor Tiddlywinks to be careful and not soil her lace when he wanted to hug her, and that it was rude to stare at people, and that he ought not to play in the servants' hall. In fact, he had to forsake his baby ways, and in time they forgot to call each other "Heart's Desire;" and though they ate and walked and talked together, they drifted apart and became as strangers. The boy soon learned to give her only a formal little kiss, on the cheek or forehead, very much as his papa did. In time, even this occurred only on the necessary occasions, which were, of course, when he was brought down in the morning, and again at night, before he went to bed.
It was no wonder then that Tiddlywinks, in his utter loneliness, used to steal down to the forbidden servants' hall and lavish his love on the portly but good-hearted cook, who gave him, in return for his affection, such quantities of cream-puffs, and custards, ​and pickles, and oranges, and cakes, that he used to get a stomach-ache four days out of seven.
Of course, it was all different when Hal came home from Princeton. Hal was such a jolly fellow and did whatever he liked. He had taught Tiddlywinks how to put, and used to take him riding and show him how to smoke, and laughed uproariously whenever he choked. Tiddlywinks, indeed, loved Hal so much that three times he had smoked himself sick, when Hal had shown Lees-Smith what a jolly fine smoker Tiddlywinks was, all for Hal's sake. Besides this, he had shot off Hal's gun five times, and had even been allowed to go fishing with him, and pull in the little ones, which sometimes were awfully hard to get. The three times that Tiddlywinks had made up his mind to run away and be a Spanish Pirate, or some other awful Being, and was caught each time and put to bed in disgrace, were not, you may know, when Hal was at home. Hal even used to make his mamma allow Tiddlywinks to stay up at night and listen while they sang, for ​Tiddlywinks' mamma sang beautifully. Hal, of course, sang beautifully too,—but then, Hal's singing was so different. When his mamma sang it used to make him think of the angels in the window at the end of the Cathedral, only he knew that real angels did not wear lace, and would let you kiss and hug them as often as you wanted to. At least, angels never made you afraid of them, anyway.
There was one particular man, with an iron-grey moustache and thin grey hair, who used to come to dinner at Tiddlywinks' house and stay in the evenings to hear his mamma sing. Tiddlywinks hated this man with all the fervour of his childish heart. James, the coachman, once told him that this man was a General, and a greater man than his own papa,—a thing which Tiddlywinks could never believe. Still, he was very tall and very straight, and used to frown at Tiddlywinks, and then turn and smile at his mamma; and naturally the unsophisticated little Tiddlywinks always used to wonder what right this Man with the Bald Head had to look in his mamma's eyes and smile so affectionately. ​It made his lonely little heart burn with jealousy. At first he used to think the man was an ogre, because his teeth were so white, but when he told this to his mamma, she called him a wicked little boy for talking so dreadfully about a nice, kind gentleman.
However, Tiddlywinks was steadfast in his hate, and it was with all his soul that he hated this Man with the Bald Head. One day he heard the cook say that that man had no business around the house so often, shaking her head very ominously as she made the remark to Sally, the maid.
After that, Tiddlywinks' life was one of endless anxiety and watchfulness. He had a vague idea that the Ogre was going to burn down the stables some night, or carry off the silver-ware, or steal his mamma. Had his papa not told him to take good care of her? In his extremity he stole Hal's gun and hid it under his bed. There it was found a few days later by Sally, the housemaid, whereupon Tiddlywinks was once more sent early to bed, and all but set down as an incorrigible little murderer.
​Tiddlywinks said nothing, but he watched the tall man with the white teeth as a cat watches a mouse. Even his mamma at last noticed it, and made it a rule to send him up to bed immediately dinner was finished. There he used to roll and toss, and think of the burning injustice of it all, and wonder what his papa would say if he only knew. Then he would sit up in bed and listen to the sound of the music, while his mamma was singing down in the drawing-room. He was passionately fond of hearing his mamma sing, and after a time he grew bolder and used to go out and stand at the banister of the stairway and listen. Then he would steal downstairs, and even creep up the dim hallway, and push under the portière and stand there motionless, in his long, white nightgown, listening with rapt attention. As soon as he saw the music was ending, he would slip back through the doorway and run shivering up to bed.
One night, as he climbed the stairs after the singing had come to an end, he stopped and listened, for he heard his mamma talking in a frightened way.
​"Don't, don't, Reginald!" he heard her cry, "for my sake, for your own, don't tempt me."
Then the Ogre, the great, tall, white-toothed Ogre, said something about how much he loved her.
"No, no!" his mamma answered, "I shall not,—I must—Oh, God! what shall I do!"
That was all he listened to. He crept up to bed. He knew he had been a sneak for listening to other people talking. Hal would never have done that! But he had not meant to. He said to himself over and over again that he had not meant to. Yet now he knew it all. His mamma did n't love him because she loved the Ogre. That was it, she loved the Ogre. Then his mamma was wicked. And he had promised his papa that he would take care of her! What would he say when he came home and found out? What would he say?
In his misery he got up and knelt by his bed, and said every prayer he knew. After his solitary little childish heart had argued it ​out that night, he said he would send for Hal. Good old Hal would come and tell him what to do. Hal knew so well how to do things.
The next morning Tiddlywinks contrived to avoid kissing his mamma. It was a mockery he would go through no longer, for she was wicked and loved the Ogre. By noon he had sent a letter off to Princeton, to Hal. The cook had addressed the envelope for him, and he had sat down and, with great labour and infinite pains, had secretly penned the first letter of his lifetime. It was just five words: "Der Hal come hom quick." Then he sneaked out to the stables and gave it to James to post, along with seven precious pennies as a bribe to silence. All that day Tiddlywinks did not care for even cream-puffs or cheese-cakes, and the cook told Sally the housemaid that she knew Tiddlywinks was getting the measles or scarlatina—she could n't say which—he was so quiet, and worse than that, had calmly declined to scrape out the ice-cream freezer!
When he sat down to dinner that night, ​Tiddlywinks was studiously and remarkably silent. The Ogre was there as usual, but the child scarcely dared to look in his face, lest the Ogre should see how he hated him. He knew it was useless for him to try to hide it. All the while the Ogre was eating his fish, the child was silently, ridiculously praying, "Please, God, choke this wicked Ogre to death with a fish-bone! Please, God, choke him; choke him—choke him dead!" until it ran through his little mind in a sort of musical refrain. When the Ogre finished his trout without choking, Tiddlywinks knew that even God himself had deserted him.
After that he felt a mysterious desire to fling the salad-bowl at the Ogre's head—just on the little shiny, bald spot. The child wondered if the great heavy, cut-glass bowl with the sharp points would kill the man dead if it hit him on the right spot.
At last dinner was over, and Tiddlywinks got down from his chair and was walking out of the room, when his mother called him back.
​"You have not kissed me to-night, darling!' she said. Tiddlywinks was silent. "Will you not kiss mamma, dear?" she asked, as she came over to where he stood, defiant, yet miserable, looking down stolidly at the pattern in the carpet.
"You may easily find a too willing substitute," murmured the man at the table. Tiddlywink's mother turned pale, and raised her finger at the man in a frightened way.
"Very well, Tiddlywinks," she said with a sigh, "I shall not make you do so."
When the child had gone to bed with a swelling heart, she sat thinking for a long time, until the man's voice roused her and they went into the library for coffee.
Tiddlywinks' mother sang that evening as she had never sung before. The lonely child in his bed heard her, crept down the stairs, and sat for a long time on the bottom step, listening. Then the music seemed to charm him, luring him through the doorway, and he stood there in the shadow, a motionless little bare-footed figure in white.
"She must be one of the angels, after all," ​thought Tiddlywinks, as he listened; and as the Ogre stood beside her and bent over her, it seemed to the child that he could be none other than the Supreme Ruler of the Bad Place.
When the song was finished, not one of the three persons in the room moved. Tiddlywinks was almost afraid to breathe.
After a long pause, he saw the tall man with the grey moustache suddenly bend down and put his arms around his mother. And his mother, his very own mother, leaned her head back in one long, long kiss. Tiddlywinks shuddered. By mere human intuition he knew it was wrong. He was only a child, a mere baby, but he thought of his father, and of his own promise, and the passion of the murderer went tingling through his childish veins. It was the instinct in him to protect his own—just as he had once bitten his German nursemaid for burning his nigger doll.
He stole in on his noiseless bare feet, over to the grate where the shining brass poker leaned against the metal. It was nearly as ​long as the child himself, and it was tremendously heavy, but while the Ruler of the Bad Place was still trying to kiss his mother's soul into the Place of Crawling Things, by that one long embrace, he lifted the poker with both hands and brought it down with all his force on the little, shiny, bald spot on the man's head. After all, it was not a very heavy blow, but the man fell to the floor like a log. Tiddlywinks' mother saw the bleeding man, and the child, all in white, standing over him, gave one short scream, and fainted. Then the poker fell from Tiddlywinks' hands, and he turned and fled. He did not stop until he came to his own room. There he flung himself on his bed, and writhed in the awful consciousness of having killed, as he thought, two human beings.
When Hal came hurrying home by the night train, knowing something was wrong, he found Tiddlywinks still sobbing away as if his heart would break. Then Hal and his mother had a long, long talk, shut up together ​down in the library. A few moments later Tiddlywinks heard some one open the door very softly, and the first thing he knew, somebody was crying over him. It was his "Heart's Desire." Then the two got down on their knees and said their prayers together, for she was still a young woman, and had been very lonely. After that she drew him to her breast and murmured mother nonsense to him until he fell asleep, and there was even a tear or two on her face when she finally tucked him in.
But what Harrington Hummerley and his mother talked of when she went down to the library again, no one shall ever know, although the next day a long, tear-stained letter was on its way to South America, where a certain grey-eyed major was building one of his wonderful canals.
As for the Ogre, he went away and never came back again, for Hal was tackle in his college team, and when a Princeton "Tackle" once knocks a man down—well—he never comes begging about for a second experience.
​And now Tiddlywinks kisses and hugs and mauls his mamma as much and as often as he pleases, and they call each other "Heart's Desire" once more, and though he leaves a dozen smudges on her very best gown, why should anything be said of a little thing like that?
In fact, Hal took Tiddlywinks to Princeton with him for a few days, and when they came back James, the coachman, was informed by wire that Major Hummerley was forwarding by steamer "Colombo" one live alligator. This was duly handed over to Tiddlywinks on his seventh birthday, with the information that her name was Flora, and that the same was for carrying out the instructions of a superior officer.
But the cook always insisted on the point that there was such a thing as making a child take life too seriously.