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subjects his mother knew about, such as everything else. He knew that his father admired his mother for her intelligence. She read the Temiskaming Speaker from cover to cover, every week, and on the rare occasions when the Toronto Daily Star made it all the way up to Struan, she bought that too. She was the one who wrote letters if they needed writing, and paid all the bills. Arthur’s father could read things provided they weren’t too complicated, and he could add up all right, but when it came to writing, his fingers were clumsy and the letters and figures didn’t come out as they were supposed to.
    Arthur’s mother was better at dealing with people, too. The previous spring, when a late frost killed off half the crops and Arthur’s father had to go and see the bank manager, she went with him to do the talking. Arthur’s father knew what was needed to put things right, how much money he wanted to borrow and how long it would take him to repay it, but he was afraid that in the enclosed space of the bank manager’s office the words would refuse to come to him and he’d be left standing there, looking stupid. The Dunn men weren’t big on words.
    So he relied on his wife. He readily accepted that there were things which she knew that he did not, including how much water it took to drown a child.

    Despite his mother’s fears and Arthur’s occasional guilt-ridden, mostly repressed wishes, Jake didn’t drown or fall off the roof or get run over by a car, and he grew into a lovely, sunny child. Those were the words Arthur’s mother used to describe him. Everyone loved him—she said that too. “It’s because he’s so cheerful,” she said. “So interested in everything and everyone.”
    Arthur studied his own reflection in the square of mirror in the bathroom. His big plain face and mud-colored hair. Sunny wasn’t the word that sprang to mind. What would the right word be? Not cloudy…Overcast? Dull? That was it. Dull. He even felt dull.
    As for being interested in everyone and everything—well, he wasn’t. Most people and most things were boring, when you got right down to it. But he didn’t believe Jake was all that interested either. He just looked as if he was. Even as a small child he had better control over his face than Arthur did: he could make it express anything he wanted, regardless of what was going on beneath the surface. He could make his face shine with interest and enthusiasm when Arthur knew for certain that inside he was wearing either a sneer or a yawn. He only bothered to do it with adults, of course; they were the ones worth impressing. He would greet any adult who crossed his path as if he or she were his favorite person on this earth. He’d say, “Hi, Mrs. Turner!” and his face would light up and glow with warmth as big old, fat old Mrs. Turner waddled up, and then five minutes later, when she’d pressed a nickel into his hand and gone beamingly on her way, he’d be imitating the waddle and trying to persuade you to do “knock-and-run” on her door.
    Arthur, on the other hand, was forever being told he looked glum. He wasn’t glum; it was just the way his features sat on his face. And when adults crossed his path he kept his head down, because he had no idea what to say.
     
     
     
    “You’d better watch out, Arthur,” the teacher said. “Your little brother’s going to catch up with you.”
    It was Jake’s first year at school. Arthur was in grade six. He had to set off for the two-mile walk to school fifteen minutes earlier than he used to because Jake couldn’t walk as quickly and mustn’t arrive at school all tired out from running to keep up. Arthur didn’t see why they had to go together; there were no hazards to pass on the way to school that he was aware of, no raging rivers to cross, no mountains to climb. Bears ambled through the area from time to time, but no more often than they had when he was Jake’s age, and no one had worried about him being eaten by