The Waterbury Democrat., 1932-01-26

quarrels. grew to hate them; to be afraid of the loud voices and the ugly words. Physically afraid. They made me ashamed, too. I knew that 1t was disgraceful, and I'd skip off into a closet and hide and cry.
 "One day, during a particularly violent quarrel, I ran away and hid as usual in my closet a small one in the upper hall where dad kept his fishing and hunting traps. I went to sleep in there. When I woke and pushed open the door Well, never mind, I won't drama tize it. The house was on fire. The upper hall was thick with smoke. l was five years old. ran to the front stairs, and flames were leap- ing up them. I couldn't get through the hall to the back stairway be- cause the smoke was too thick. My picture of it now is exaggerat- ed, of course. But think of flames shooting out at me from every where-at my head and eyes and feet-leaping and licking and try ing to catch me. Through it all l heard changing and screams and shouts, as if the world were taking part in a final monstrous quarrel. Five years old is too young to be as frightened as I was in that hall, choking with smoke that day.
 
 "I ran into the bathroom-some idea of water, imagine. At any rate, it was at the side of the house where the fire had gained the least headway. Just as I got there a fireman, with his face blackened from smoke, came through the window He let out a round oath and reached for me. That was the end of it-so far as I was con- cerned. He frightened me much more than the flames and the smoke. Like n good child, had gone regularly to Sunday school. thought the fireman was the devil, and that he'd come to catch me. gave up the ghost right then and there. Painted, you know.
 Strange but fires don't bother me in the least, and never have since then. I'll run as fast as. the rest of them after the fire engine But to this day I have to stop de- liberately and rationalize the whole works before I can know that il was not the quarrel before the fire that day that caused the flames to lick at me and the smoke to choke me and the devil himself to come and get me.
 "They brought me out of it all right that time. The next time the folks started quarrel 1 ruined 1t by throwing something or other not unlike an epileptic fit. Scared the lives out of them. A couple of repetitions, and they sent me to grandma's to live for the winter. recovered beautifully from the fits But still I run for my closet and hide when I hear quarrel. I don't coddle myself and think it is cute and original to be like that. I'm ashamed of it to the bone. But it's truefi. A quarrel takes something out of me that I don't ever get back. Now, do you think that per son who liked me. and to whom I'd explained al tlhis-much more ir detail that I've explained 1t to you would drag me through the smoke and flames again, and give me over to the devil?"
 buJ-DuL DdIIyS 'SCShy fAc~ cred, "it--it is too terrible. Il makes me afraid. Suppose. I'm scared to death. I'll never dare"
 
 "No, no, darling. Nothing like that. I'm not a freak - and the fits were purely hysterical; haven't had one for 16 years. I'm not freak. I don't mean that can't stand an argument nor dis cussion nor that have to have my own way about everything. You could tell mem to go jump in the lake, if you felt like it, and didn', scream it. Don't ever scream al me, or call me names in loud voice-wi.l you? ?"
 Barry! But--but exactly how do you define quarrel, dear! 'Noise. Recriminations. Hot