HANDS，concerningWingBiddlebaumPAPERPILLS，concerningDoctorReefyMOTHER，concerningElizabethWillardTHEPHILOSOPHER，concerningDoctorParcivalNOBODYKNOWS，concerningLouiseTrunnionGODLINESS，aTaleinFourPartsI，concerningJesseBentleyII，alsoconcerningJesseBentleyIIISurrender，concerningLouiseBentleyIVTerror，concerningDavidHardyAMANOFIDEAS，concerningJoeWellingADVENTURE，concerningAliceHindmanRESPECTABILITY，concerningWashWilliamsTHETHINKER，concerningSethRichmondTANDY，concerningTandyHardTHESTRENGTHOFGOD，concerningtheReverendCurtisHartmanTHETEACHER，concerningKateSwiftLONELINESS，concerningEnochRobinson。
　　ANAWAKENING，concerningBelleCarpenter"QUEER，"concerningElmerCowleyTHEUNTOLDLIE，concerningRayPearsonDRINK，concerningTomFosterDEATH，concerningDoctorReefyandElizabethWillardSOPHISTICATION，concerningHelenWhiteDEPARTURE，concerningGeorgeWillardTothememoryofmymother，EMMASMITHANDERSON，whosekeenobservationsonthelifeaboutherfirstawokeinmethehungertoseebeneaththesurfaceoflives，thisbookisdedicated。
　　THEWRITER，anoldmanwithawhitemustache，hadsomedifficultyingettingintobed。Thewindowsofthehouseinwhichhelivedwerehighandhewantedtolookatthetreeswhenheawokeinthemorning。Acarpentercametofixthebedsothatitwouldbeonalevelwiththewindow。
　　Quiteafusswasmadeaboutthematter。Thecar-
　　penter，whohadbeenasoldierintheCivilWar，cameintothewriter'sroomandsatdowntotalkofbuildingaplatformforthepurposeofraisingthebed。Thewriterhadcigarslyingaboutandthecar-
　　pentersmoked。
　　Foratimethetwomentalkedoftheraisingofthebedandthentheytalkedofotherthings。Thesoldiergotonthesubjectofthewar。Thewriter，infact，ledhimtothatsubject。ThecarpenterhadoncebeenaprisonerinAndersonvilleprisonandhadlostabrother。Thebrotherhaddiedofstarvation，andwheneverthecarpentergotuponthatsubjecthecried。He，liketheoldwriter，hadawhitemustache，andwhenhecriedhepuckereduphislipsandthemustachebobbedupanddown。Theweepingoldmanwiththecigarinhismouthwasludicrous。Theplanthewriterhadfortheraisingofhisbedwasforgottenandlaterthecarpenterdiditinhisownwayandthewriter，whowaspastsixty，hadtohelphimselfwithachairwhenhewenttobedatnight。
　　Inhisbedthewriterrolledoveronhissideandlayquitestill。Foryearshehadbeenbesetwithno-
　　tionsconcerninghisheart。Hewasahardsmokerandhisheartfluttered。Theideahadgotintohismindthathewouldsometimedieunexpectedlyandalwayswhenhegotintobedhethoughtofthat。Itdidnotalarmhim。Theeffectinfactwasquiteaspecialthingandnoteasilyexplained。Itmadehimmorealive，thereinbed，thanatanyothertime。
　　Perfectlystillhelayandhisbodywasoldandnotofmuchuseanymore，butsomethinginsidehimwasaltogetheryoung。Hewaslikeapregnantwoman，onlythatthethinginsidehimwasnotababybutayouth。No，itwasn'tayouth，itwasawoman，young，andwearingacoatofmaillikeaknight。Itisabsurd，yousee，totrytotellwhatwasinsidetheoldwriterashelayonhishighbedandlistenedtotheflutteringofhisheart。Thethingtogetatiswhatthewriter，ortheyoungthingwithinthewriter，wasthinkingabout。
　　Theoldwriter，likeallofthepeopleintheworld，hadgot，duringhislongfife，agreatmanynotionsinhishead。Hehadoncebeenquitehandsomeandanumberofwomenhadbeeninlovewithhim。
　　Andthen，ofcourse，hehadknownpeople，manypeople，knowntheminapeculiarlyintimatewaythatwasdifferentfromthewayinwhichyouandI
　　knowpeople。Atleastthatiswhatthewriterthoughtandthethoughtpleasedhim。Whyquarrelwithanoldmanconcerninghisthoughts？
　　Inthebedthewriterhadadreamthatwasnotadream。Ashegrewsomewhatsleepybutwasstillconscious，figuresbegantoappearbeforehiseyes。
　　Heimaginedtheyoungindescribablethingwithinhimselfwasdrivingalongprocessionoffiguresbe-
　　forehiseyes。
　　Youseetheinterestinallthisliesinthefiguresthatwentbeforetheeyesofthewriter。Theywereallgrotesques。Allofthemenandwomenthewriterhadeverknownhadbecomegrotesques。
　　Thegrotesqueswerenotallhorrible。Somewereamusing，somealmostbeautiful，andone，awomanalldrawnoutofshape，hurttheoldmanbyhergrotesqueness。Whenshepassedhemadeanoiselikeasmalldogwhimpering。Hadyoucomeintotheroomyoumighthavesupposedtheoldmanhadunpleasantdreamsorperhapsindigestion。
　　Foranhourtheprocessionofgrotesquespassedbeforetheeyesoftheoldman，andthen，althoughitwasapainfulthingtodo，hecreptoutofbedandbegantowrite。Someoneofthegrotesqueshadmadeadeepimpressiononhismindandhewantedtodescribeit。
　　Athisdeskthewriterworkedforanhour。Intheendhewroteabookwhichhecalled"TheBookoftheGrotesque。"Itwasneverpublished，butIsawitonceanditmadeanindelibleimpressiononmymind。Thebookhadonecentralthoughtthatisverystrangeandhasalwaysremainedwithme。Byre-
　　memberingitIhavebeenabletounderstandmanypeopleandthingsthatIwasneverabletounder-
　　standbefore。Thethoughtwasinvolvedbutasimplestatementofitwouldbesomethinglikethis:
　　Thatinthebeginningwhentheworldwasyoungtherewereagreatmanythoughtsbutnosuchthingasatruth。Manmadethetruthshimselfandeachtruthwasacompositeofagreatmanyvaguethoughts。Allaboutintheworldwerethetruthsandtheywereallbeautiful。
　　Theoldmanhadlistedhundredsofthetruthsinhisbook。Iwillnottrytotellyouofallofthem。
　　Therewasthetruthofvirginityandthetruthofpassion，thetruthofwealthandofpoverty，ofthriftandofprofligacy，ofcarelessnessandabandon。
　　Hundredsandhundredswerethetruthsandtheywereallbeautiful。
　　Andthenthepeoplecamealong。Eachasheap-
　　pearedsnatcheduponeofthetruthsandsomewhowerequitestrongsnatchedupadozenofthem。
　　Itwasthetruthsthatmadethepeoplegrotesques。
　　Theoldmanhadquiteanelaboratetheoryconcern-
　　ingthematter。Itwashisnotionthatthemomentoneofthepeopletookoneofthetruthstohimself，calledithistruth，andtriedtolivehislifebyit，hebecameagrotesqueandthetruthheembracedbecameafalsehood。
　　Youcanseeforyourselfhowtheoldman，whohadspentallofhislifewritingandwasfilledwithwords，wouldwritehundredsofpagesconcerningthismatter。Thesubjectwouldbecomesobiginhismindthathehimselfwouldbeindangerofbecom-
　　ingagrotesque。Hedidn't，Isuppose，forthesamereasonthatheneverpublishedthebook。Itwastheyoungthinginsidehimthatsavedtheoldman。
　　Concerningtheoldcarpenterwhofixedthebedforthewriter，Ionlymentionedhimbecausehe，THEBOOKOFTHEGROTESQUE7
　　likemanyofwhatarecalledverycommonpeople，becamethenearestthingtowhatisunderstandableandlovableofallthegrotesquesinthewriter'sbook。
　　HANDS
　　UPONTHEHALFdecayedverandaofasmallframehousethatstoodneartheedgeofaravinenearthetownofWinesburg，Ohio，afatlittleoldmanwalkednervouslyupanddown。Acrossalongfieldthathadbeenseededforcloverbutthathadproducedonlyadensecropofyellowmustardweeds，hecouldseethepublichighwayalongwhichwentawagonfilledwithberrypickersreturningfromthefields。Theberrypickers，youthsandmaidens，laughedandshoutedboisterously。Aboycladinablueshirtleapedfromthewagonandattemptedtodragafterhimoneofthemaidens，whoscreamedandprotestedshrilly。Thefeetoftheboyintheroadkickedupacloudofdustthatfloatedacrossthefaceofthedepartingsun。Overthelongfieldcameathingirlishvoice。"Oh，youWingBiddlebaum，combyourhair，it'sfallingintoyoureyes，"commandedthevoicetotheman，whowasbaldandwhosener-
　　vouslittlehandsfiddledaboutthebarewhitefore-
　　headasthougharrangingamassoftangledlocks。
　　WingBiddlebaum，foreverfrightenedandbesetbyaghostlybandofdoubts，didnotthinkofhimselfasinanywayapartofthelifeofthetownwherehehadlivedfortwentyyears。AmongallthepeopleofWinesburgbutonehadcomeclosetohim。WithGeorgeWillard，sonofTomWillard，theproprietoroftheNewWillardHouse，hehadformedsome-
　　thinglikeafriendship。GeorgeWillardwasthere-
　　porterontheWinesburgEagleandsometimesintheeveningshewalkedoutalongthehighwaytoWingBiddlebaum'shouse。Nowastheoldmanwalkedupanddownontheveranda，hishandsmovingnervouslyabout，hewashopingthatGeorgeWillardwouldcomeandspendtheeveningwithhim。Afterthewagoncontainingtheberrypickershadpassed，hewentacrossthefieldthroughthetallmustardweedsandclimbingarailfencepeeredanxiouslyalongtheroadtothetown。Foramomenthestoodthus，rubbinghishandstogetherandlookingupanddowntheroad，andthen，fearovercominghim，ranbacktowalkagainupontheporchonhisownhouse。
　　InthepresenceofGeorgeWillard，WingBid-
　　dlebaum，whofortwentyyearshadbeenthetownmystery，lostsomethingofhistimidity，andhisshadowypersonality，submergedinaseaofdoubts，cameforthtolookattheworld。Withtheyoungreporterathisside，heventuredinthelightofdayintoMainStreetorstrodeupanddownontherick-
　　etyfrontporchofhisownhouse，talkingexcitedly。
　　Thevoicethathadbeenlowandtremblingbecameshrillandloud。Thebentfigurestraightened。Withakindofwriggle，likeafishreturnedtothebrookbythefisherman，Biddlebaumthesilentbegantotalk，strivingtoputintowordstheideasthathadbeenaccumulatedbyhismindduringlongyearsofsilence。
　　WingBiddlebaumtalkedmuchwithhishands。
　　Theslenderexpressivefingers，foreveractive，for-
　　everstrivingtoconcealthemselvesinhispocketsorbehindhisback，cameforthandbecamethepistonrodsofhismachineryofexpression。
　　ThestoryofWingBiddlebaumisastoryofhands。
　　Theirrestlessactivity，likeuntothebeatingofthewingsofanimprisonedbird，hadgivenhimhisname。Someobscurepoetofthetownhadthoughtofit。Thehandsalarmedtheirowner。Hewantedtokeepthemhiddenawayandlookedwithamaze-
　　mentatthequietinexpressivehandsofothermenwhoworkedbesidehiminthefields，orpassed，drivingsleepyteamsoncountryroads。
　　WhenhetalkedtoGeorgeWillard，WingBid-
　　dlebaumclosedhisfistsandbeatwiththemuponatableoronthewallsofhishouse。Theactionmadehimmorecomfortable。Ifthedesiretotalkcametohimwhenthetwowerewalkinginthefields，hesoughtoutastumporthetopboardofafenceandwithhishandspoundingbusilytalkedwithre-
　　newedease。
　　ThestoryofWingBiddlebaum'shandsisworthabookinitself。Sympatheticallysetforthitwouldtapmanystrange，beautifulqualitiesinobscuremen。Itisajobforapoet。InWinesburgthehandshadattractedattentionmerelybecauseoftheiractivity。
　　WiththemWingBiddlebaumhadpickedashighasahundredandfortyquartsofstrawberriesinaday。
　　Theybecamehisdistinguishingfeature，thesourceofhisfame。Alsotheymademoregrotesqueanal-
　　readygrotesqueandelusiveindividuality。Wines-
　　burgwasproudofthehandsofWingBiddlebauminthesamespiritinwhichitwasproudofBankerWhite'snewstonehouseandWesleyMoyer'sbaystallion，TonyTip，thathadwonthetwo-fifteentrotatthefallracesinCleveland。
　　AsforGeorgeWillard，hehadmanytimeswantedtoaskaboutthehands。Attimesanalmostover-
　　whelmingcuriosityhadtakenholdofhim。HefeltthattheremustbeareasonfortheirstrangeactivityandtheirinclinationtokeephiddenawayandonlyagrowingrespectforWingBiddlebaumkepthimfromblurtingoutthequestionsthatwereofteninhismind。
　　Oncehehadbeenonthepointofasking。Thetwowerewalkinginthefieldsonasummerafternoonandhadstoppedtosituponagrassybank。Allafter-
　　noonWingBiddlebaumhadtalkedasoneinspired。
　　ByafencehehadstoppedandbeatinglikeagiantwoodpeckeruponthetopboardhadshoutedatGeorgeWillard，condemninghistendencytobetoomuchinfluencedbythepeopleabouthim，"Youaredestroyingyourself，"hecried。"Youhavetheincli-
　　nationtobealoneandtodreamandyouareafraidofdreams。Youwanttobelikeothersintownhere。
　　Youhearthemtalkandyoutrytoimitatethem。"
　　OnthegrassybankWingBiddlebaumhadtriedagaintodrivehispointhome。Hisvoicebecamesoftandreminiscent，andwithasighofcontentmenthelaunchedintoalongramblingtalk，speakingasonelostinadream。
　　OutofthedreamWingBiddlebaummadeapic-
　　tureforGeorgeWillard。Inthepicturemenlivedagaininakindofpastoralgoldenage。Acrossagreenopencountrycameclean-limbedyoungmen，someafoot，somemounteduponhorses。Incrowdstheyoungmencametogatheraboutthefeetofanoldmanwhosatbeneathatreeinatinygardenandwhotalkedtothem。
　　WingBiddlebaumbecamewhollyinspired。Foronceheforgotthehands。SlowlytheystoleforthandlayuponGeorgeWillard'sshoulders。Some-
　　thingnewandboldcameintothevoicethattalked。
　　"Youmusttrytoforgetallyouhavelearned，"saidtheoldman。"Youmustbegintodream。Fromthistimeonyoumustshutyourearstotheroaringofthevoices。"
　　Pausinginhisspeech，WingBiddlebaumlookedlongandearnestlyatGeorgeWillard。Hiseyesglowed。Againheraisedthehandstocaresstheboyandthenalookofhorrorsweptoverhisface。
　　Withaconvulsivemovementofhisbody，WingBiddlebaumsprangtohisfeetandthrusthishandsdeepintohistrouserspockets。Tearscametohiseyes。"Imustbegettingalonghome。Icantalknomorewithyou，"hesaidnervously。
　　Withoutlookingback，theoldmanhadhurrieddownthehillsideandacrossameadow，leavingGeorgeWillardperplexedandfrighteneduponthegrassyslope。Withashiverofdreadtheboyaroseandwentalongtheroadtowardtown。"I'llnotaskhimabouthishands，"hethought，touchedbythememoryoftheterrorhehadseenintheman'seyes。
　　"There'ssomethingwrong，butIdon'twanttoknowwhatitis。Hishandshavesomethingtodowithhisfearofmeandofeveryone。"
　　AndGeorgeWillardwasright。Letuslookbrieflyintothestoryofthehands。Perhapsourtalkingofthemwillarousethepoetwhowilltellthehiddenwonderstoryoftheinfluenceforwhichthehandswerebutflutteringpennantsofpromise。
　　InhisyouthWingBiddlebaumhadbeenaschoolteacherinatowninPennsylvania。HewasnotthenknownasWingBiddlebaum，butwentbythelesseuphonicnameofAdolphMyers。AsAdolphMyershewasmuchlovedbytheboysofhisschool。
　　AdolphMyerswasmeantbynaturetobeateacherofyouth。Hewasoneofthoserare，little-
　　understoodmenwhorulebyapowersogentlethatitpassesasalovableweakness。Intheirfeelingfortheboysundertheirchargesuchmenarenotunlikethefinersortofwomenintheirloveofmen。
　　Andyetthatisbutcrudelystated。Itneedsthepoetthere。Withtheboysofhisschool，AdolphMyershadwalkedintheeveningorhadsattalkinguntilduskupontheschoolhousestepslostinakindofdream。Hereandtherewenthishands，caressingtheshouldersoftheboys，playingaboutthetousledheads。Ashetalkedhisvoicebecamesoftandmusi-
　　cal。Therewasacaressinthatalso。Inawaythevoiceandthehands，thestrokingoftheshouldersandthetouchingofthehairwereapartoftheschoolmaster'sefforttocarryadreamintotheyoungminds。Bythecaressthatwasinhisfingersheex-
　　pressedhimself。Hewasoneofthosemeninwhomtheforcethatcreateslifeisdiffused，notcentralized。
　　Underthecaressofhishandsdoubtanddisbeliefwentoutofthemindsoftheboysandtheybeganalsotodream。
　　Andthenthetragedy。Ahalf-wittedboyoftheschoolbecameenamoredoftheyoungmaster。Inhisbedatnightheimaginedunspeakablethingsandinthemorningwentforthtotellhisdreamsasfacts。
　　Strange，hideousaccusationsfellfromhisloose-
　　hunglips。ThroughthePennsylvaniatownwentashiver。Hidden，shadowydoubtsthathadbeeninmen'smindsconcerningAdolphMyersweregalva-
　　nizedintobeliefs。
　　Thetragedydidnotlinger。Tremblingladswerejerkedoutofbedandquestioned。"Heputhisarmsaboutme，"saidone。"Hisfingerswerealwaysplay-
　　inginmyhair，"saidanother。
　　Oneafternoonamanofthetown，HenryBrad-
　　ford，whokeptasaloon，cametotheschoolhousedoor。CallingAdolphMyersintotheschoolyardhebegantobeathimwithhisfists。Ashishardknuck-
　　lesbeatdownintothefrightenedfaceoftheschool-
　　master，hiswrathbecamemoreandmoreterrible。
　　Screamingwithdismay，thechildrenranhereandtherelikedisturbedinsects。"I'llteachyoutoputyourhandsonmyboy，youbeast，"roaredthesa-
　　loonkeeper，who，tiredofbeatingthemaster，hadbeguntokickhimabouttheyard。
　　AdolphMyerswasdrivenfromthePennsylvaniatowninthenight。Withlanternsintheirhandsadozenmencametothedoorofthehousewherehelivedaloneandcommandedthathedressandcomeforth。Itwasrainingandoneofthemenhadaropeinhishands。Theyhadintendedtohangtheschool-
　　master，butsomethinginhisfigure，sosmall，white，andpitiful，touchedtheirheartsandtheylethimescape。Asheranawayintothedarknesstheyre-
　　pentedoftheirweaknessandranafterhim，swear-
　　ingandthrowingsticksandgreatballsofsoftmudatthefigurethatscreamedandranfasterandfasterintothedarkness。
　　FortwentyyearsAdolphMyershadlivedaloneinWinesburg。Hewasbutfortybutlookedsixty-
　　five。ThenameofBiddlebaumhegotfromaboxofgoodsseenatafreightstationashehurriedthroughaneasternOhiotown。HehadanauntinWines-
　　burg，ablack-toothedoldwomanwhoraisedchick-
　　ens，andwithherheliveduntilshedied。HehadbeenillforayearaftertheexperienceinPennsylva-
　　nia，andafterhisrecoveryworkedasadaylaborerinthefields，goingtimidlyaboutandstrivingtocon-
　　cealhishands。Althoughhedidnotunderstandwhathadhappenedhefeltthatthehandsmustbetoblame。Againandagainthefathersoftheboyshadtalkedofthehands。"Keepyourhandstoyour-
　　self，"thesaloonkeeperhadroared，dancing，withfuryintheschoolhouseyard。
　　Upontheverandaofhishousebytheravine，WingBiddlebaumcontinuedtowalkupanddownuntilthesunhaddisappearedandtheroadbeyondthefieldwaslostinthegreyshadows。Goingintohishousehecutslicesofbreadandspreadhoneyuponthem。Whentherumbleoftheeveningtrainthattookawaytheexpresscarsloadedwiththeday'sharvestofberrieshadpassedandrestoredthesilenceofthesummernight，hewentagaintowalkupontheveranda。Inthedarknesshecouldnotseethehandsandtheybecamequiet。Althoughhestillhungeredforthepresenceoftheboy，whowasthemediumthroughwhichheexpressedhisloveofman，thehungerbecameagainapartofhisloneli-
　　nessandhiswaiting。Lightingalamp，WingBid-
　　dlebaumwashedthefewdishessoiledbyhissimplemealand，settingupafoldingcotbythescreendoorthatledtotheporch，preparedtoundressforthenight。Afewstraywhitebreadcrumbslayonthecleanlywashedfloorbythetable；puttingthelampuponalowstoolhebegantopickupthecrumbs，carryingthemtohismouthonebyonewithunbe-
　　lievablerapidity。Inthedenseblotchoflightbeneaththetable，thekneelingfigurelookedlikeapriestengagedinsomeserviceofhischurch。Thenervousexpressivefingers，flashinginandoutofthelight，mightwellhavebeenmistakenforthefingersofthedevoteegoingswiftlythroughdecadeafterdecadeofhisrosary。
　　PAPERPILLS
　　HEWASANoldmanwithawhitebeardandhugenoseandhands。Longbeforethetimeduringwhichwewillknowhim，hewasadoctoranddroveajadedwhitehorsefromhousetohousethroughthestreetsofWinesburg。Laterhemarriedagirlwhohadmoney。Shehadbeenleftalargefertilefarmwhenherfatherdied。Thegirlwasquiet，tall，anddark，andtomanypeoplesheseemedverybeauti-
　　ful。EveryoneinWinesburgwonderedwhyshemar-
　　riedthedoctor。Withinayearafterthemarriageshedied。
　　Theknucklesofthedoctor'shandswereextraordi-
　　narilylarge。Whenthehandswereclosedtheylookedlikeclustersofunpaintedwoodenballsaslargeaswalnutsfastenedtogetherbysteelrods。Hesmokedacobpipeandafterhiswife'sdeathsatalldayinhisemptyofficeclosebyawindowthatwascoveredwithcobwebs。Heneveropenedthewin-
　　dow。OnceonahotdayinAugusthetriedbutfounditstuckfastandafterthatheforgotallaboutit。
　　Winesburghadforgottentheoldman，butinDoc-
　　torReefythereweretheseedsofsomethingveryfine。AloneinhismustyofficeintheHeffnerBlockabovetheParisDryGoodsCompany'sstore，heworkedceaselessly，buildingupsomethingthathehimselfdestroyed。Littlepyramidsoftruthheerectedandaftererectingknockedthemdownagainthathemighthavethetruthstoerectotherpyramids。
　　DoctorReefywasatallmanwhohadwornonesuitofclothesfortenyears。Itwasfrayedatthesleevesandlittleholeshadappearedatthekneesandelbows。Intheofficeheworealsoalinendusterwithhugepocketsintowhichhecontinuallystuffedscrapsofpaper。Aftersomeweeksthescrapsofpaperbecamelittlehardroundballs，andwhenthepocketswerefilledhedumpedthemoutuponthefloor。Fortenyearshehadbutonefriend，anotheroldmannamedJohnSpaniardwhoownedatreenursery。Sometimes，inaplayfulmood，oldDoctorReefytookfromhispocketsahandfulofthepaperballsandthrewthematthenurseryman。"Thatistoconfoundyou，youblatheringoldsentimentalist，"
　　hecried，shakingwithlaughter。
　　ThestoryofDoctorReefyandhiscourtshipofthetalldarkgirlwhobecamehiswifeandlefthermoneytohimisaverycuriousstory。Itisdelicious，likethetwistedlittleapplesthatgrowintheor-
　　chardsofWinesburg。Inthefallonewalksintheorchardsandthegroundishardwithfrostunder-
　　foot。Theappleshavebeentakenfromthetreesbythepickers。Theyhavebeenputinbarrelsandshippedtothecitieswheretheywillbeeateninapartmentsthatarefilledwithbooks，magazines，furniture，andpeople。Onthetreesareonlyafewgnarledapplesthatthepickershaverejected。TheylookliketheknucklesofDoctorReefy'shands。Onenibblesatthemandtheyaredelicious。Intoalittleroundplaceatthesideoftheapplehasbeengath-
　　eredallofitssweetness。Onerunsfromtreetotreeoverthefrostedgroundpickingthegnarled，twistedapplesandfillinghispocketswiththem。Onlythefewknowthesweetnessofthetwistedapples。
　　ThegirlandDoctorReefybegantheircourtshiponasummerafternoon。Hewasforty-fivethenandalreadyhehadbegunthepracticeoffillinghispock-
　　etswiththescrapsofpaperthatbecamehardballsandwerethrownaway。Thehabithadbeenformedashesatinhisbuggybehindthejadedwhitehorseandwentslowlyalongcountryroads。Onthepaperswerewrittenthoughts，endsofthoughts，beginningsofthoughts。
　　OnebyonethemindofDoctorReefyhadmadethethoughts。Outofmanyofthemheformedatruththatarosegiganticinhismind。Thetruthcloudedtheworld。Itbecameterribleandthenfadedawayandthelittlethoughtsbeganagain。
　　ThetalldarkgirlcametoseeDoctorReefybecauseshewasinthefamilywayandhadbecomefright-
　　ened。Shewasinthatconditionbecauseofaseriesofcircumstancesalsocurious。
　　Thedeathofherfatherandmotherandtherichacresoflandthathadcomedowntoherhadsetatrainofsuitorsonherheels。Fortwoyearsshesawsuitorsalmosteveryevening。Excepttwotheywereallalike。Theytalkedtoherofpassionandtherewasastrainedeagerqualityintheirvoicesandintheireyeswhentheylookedather。Thetwowhoweredifferentweremuchunlikeeachother。Oneofthem，aslenderyoungmanwithwhitehands，thesonofajewelerinWinesburg，talkedcontinuallyofvirginity。Whenhewaswithherhewasneveroffthesubject。Theother，ablack-hairedboywithlargeears，saidnothingatallbutalwaysmanagedtogetherintothedarkness，wherehebegantokissher。
　　Foratimethetalldarkgirlthoughtshewouldmarrythejeweler'sson。Forhoursshesatinsilencelisteningashetalkedtoherandthenshebegantobeafraidofsomething。Beneathhistalkofvirginityshebegantothinktherewasalustgreaterthaninalltheothers。Attimesitseemedtoherthatashetalkedhewasholdingherbodyinhishands。Sheimaginedhimturningitslowlyaboutinthewhitehandsandstaringatit。Atnightshedreamedthathehadbittenintoherbodyandthathisjawsweredripping。Shehadthedreamthreetimes，thenshebecameinthefamilywaytotheonewhosaidnoth-
　　ingatallbutwhointhemomentofhispassionactuallydidbitehershouldersothatfordaysthemarksofhisteethshowed。
　　AfterthetalldarkgirlcametoknowDoctorReefyitseemedtoherthatsheneverwantedtoleavehimagain。Shewentintohisofficeonemorningandwithouthersayinganythingheseemedtoknowwhathadhappenedtoher。
　　Intheofficeofthedoctortherewasawoman，thewifeofthemanwhokeptthebookstoreinWines-
　　burg。Likeallold-fashionedcountrypractitioners，DoctorReefypulledteeth，andthewomanwhowaitedheldahandkerchieftoherteethandgroaned。
　　Herhusbandwaswithherandwhenthetoothwastakenouttheybothscreamedandbloodrandownonthewoman'swhitedress。Thetalldarkgirldidnotpayanyattention。Whenthewomanandthemanhadgonethedoctorsmiled。"Iwilltakeyoudrivingintothecountrywithme，"hesaid。
　　Forseveralweeksthetalldarkgirlandthedoctorweretogetheralmosteveryday。Theconditionthathadbroughthertohimpassedinanillness，butshewaslikeonewhohasdiscoveredthesweetnessofthetwistedapples，shecouldnotgethermindfixedagainupontheroundperfectfruitthatiseateninthecityapartments。InthefallafterthebeginningofheracquaintanceshipwithhimshemarriedDoc-
　　torReefyandinthefollowingspringshedied。Dur-
　　ingthewinterhereadtoheralloftheoddsandendsofthoughtshehadscribbledonthebitsofpaper。Afterhehadreadthemhelaughedandstuffedthemawayinhispocketstobecomeroundhardballs。
　　MOTHER
　　ELIZABETHWILLARD，themotherofGeorgeWillard，wastallandgauntandherfacewasmarkedwithsmallpoxscars。Althoughshewasbutforty-five，someobscurediseasehadtakenthefireoutofherfigure。Listlesslyshewentaboutthedisorderlyoldhotellookingatthefadedwall-paperandtheraggedcarpetsand，whenshewasabletobeabout，doingtheworkofachambermaidamongbedssoiledbytheslumbersoffattravelingmen。Herhusband，TomWillard，aslender，gracefulmanwithsquareshoulders，aquickmilitarystep，andablackmus-
　　tachetrainedtoturnsharplyupattheends，triedtoputthewifeoutofhismind。Thepresenceofthetallghostlyfigure，movingslowlythroughthehalls，hetookasareproachtohimself。Whenhethoughtofherhegrewangryandswore。Thehotelwasun-
　　profitableandforeverontheedgeoffailureandhewishedhimselfoutofit。Hethoughtoftheoldhouseandthewomanwholivedtherewithhimasthingsdefeatedanddonefor。Thehotelinwhichhehadbegunlifesohopefullywasnowamereghostofwhatahotelshouldbe。Ashewentspruceandbusiness-likethroughthestreetsofWinesburg，hesometimesstoppedandturnedquicklyaboutasthoughfearingthatthespiritofthehotelandofthewomanwouldfollowhimevenintothestreets。
　　"Damnsuchalife，damnit!"hesputteredaimlessly。
　　TomWillardhadapassionforvillagepoliticsandforyearshadbeentheleadingDemocratinastronglyRepublicancommunity。Someday，hetoldhimself，thefideofthingspoliticalwillturninmyfavorandtheyearsofineffectualservicecountbiginthebestowalofrewards。HedreamedofgoingtoCongressandevenofbecominggovernor。Oncewhenayoungermemberofthepartyaroseatapoliticalconferenceandbegantoboastofhisfaithfulservice，TomWillardgrewwhitewithfury。"Shutup，you，"heroared，glaringabout。"Whatdoyouknowofservice？Whatareyoubutaboy？LookatwhatI'vedonehere!IwasaDemocrathereinWinesburgwhenitwasacrimetobeaDemocrat。
　　Intheolddaystheyfairlyhunteduswithguns。"
　　BetweenElizabethandheronesonGeorgetherewasadeepunexpressedbondofsympathy，basedonagirlhooddreamthathadlongagodied。Intheson'spresenceshewastimidandreserved，butsometimeswhilehehurriedabouttownintentuponhisdutiesasareporter，shewentintohisroomandclosingthedoorkneltbyalittledesk，madeofakitchentable，thatsatnearawindow。Intheroombythedeskshewentthroughaceremonythatwashalfaprayer，halfademand，addressedtotheskies。
　　Intheboyishfiguresheyearnedtoseesomethinghalfforgottenthathadoncebeenapartofherselfre-
　　created。Theprayerconcernedthat。"EventhoughI
　　die，Iwillinsomewaykeepdefeatfromyou，"shecried，andsodeepwasherdeterminationthatherwholebodyshook。Hereyesglowedandsheclenchedherfists。"IfIamdeadandseehimbecomingameaninglessdrabfigurelikemyself，Iwillcomeback，"shedeclared。"IaskGodnowtogivemethatprivilege。Idemandit。Iwillpayforit。Godmaybeatmewithhisfists。Iwilltakeanyblowthatmaybefallifbutthismyboybeallowedtoexpresssome-
　　thingforusboth。"Pausinguncertainly，thewomanstaredabouttheboy'sroom。"Anddonotlethimbecomesmartandsuccessfuleither，"sheaddedvaguely。
　　ThecommunionbetweenGeorgeWillardandhismotherwasoutwardlyaformalthingwithoutmean-
　　ing。Whenshewasillandsatbythewindowinherroomhesometimeswentintheeveningtomakeheravisit。TheysatbyawindowthatlookedovertheroofofasmallframebuildingintoMainStreet。
　　Byturningtheirheadstheycouldseethroughan-
　　otherwindow，alonganalleywaythatranbehindtheMainStreetstoresandintothebackdoorofAbnerGroff'sbakery。Sometimesastheysatthusapictureofvillagelifepresenteditselftothem。AtthebackdoorofhisshopappearedAbnerGroffwithastickoranemptymilkbottleinhishand。ForalongtimetherewasafeudbetweenthebakerandagreycatthatbelongedtoSylvesterWest，thedruggist。
　　Theboyandhismothersawthecatcreepintothedoorofthebakeryandpresentlyemergefollowedbythebaker，whosworeandwavedhisarmsabout。
　　Thebaker'seyesweresmallandredandhisblackhairandbeardwerefilledwithflourdust。Some-
　　timeshewassoangrythat，althoughthecathaddisappeared，hehurledsticks，bitsofbrokenglass，andevensomeofthetoolsofhistradeabout。OncehebrokeawindowatthebackofSinning'sHard-
　　wareStore。Inthealleythegreycatcrouchedbehindbarrelsfilledwithtornpaperandbrokenbottlesabovewhichflewablackswarmofflies。Oncewhenshewasalone，andafterwatchingaprolongedandineffectualoutburstonthepartofthebaker，Eliza-
　　bethWillardputherheaddownonherlongwhitehandsandwept。Afterthatshedidnotlookalongthealleywayanymore，buttriedtoforgetthecon-
　　testbetweenthebeardedmanandthecat。Itseemedlikearehearsalofherownlife，terribleinitsvividness。
　　Intheeveningwhenthesonsatintheroomwithhismother，thesilencemadethembothfeelawk-
　　ward。Darknesscameonandtheeveningtraincameinatthestation。Inthestreetbelowfeettrampedupanddownuponaboardsidewalk。Inthestationyard，aftertheeveningtrainhadgone，therewasaheavysilence。PerhapsSkinnerLeason，theexpressagent，movedatruckthelengthofthestationplat-
　　form。OveronMainStreetsoundedaman'svoice，laughing。Thedooroftheexpressofficebanged。
　　GeorgeWillardaroseandcrossingtheroomfumbledforthedoorknob。Sometimesheknockedagainstachair，makingitscrapealongthefloor。Bythewin-
　　dowsatthesickwoman，perfectlystill，listless。Herlonghands，whiteandbloodless，couldbeseendroopingovertheendsofthearmsofthechair。"I
　　thinkyouhadbetterbeoutamongtheboys。Youaretoomuchindoors，"shesaid，strivingtorelievetheembarrassmentofthedeparture。"IthoughtI
　　wouldtakeawalk，"repliedGeorgeWillard，whofeltawkwardandconfused。
　　OneeveninginJuly，whenthetransientguestswhomadetheNewWillardHousetheirtemporaryhomehadbecomescarce，andthehallways，lightedonlybykerosenelampsturnedlow，wereplungedingloom，ElizabethWillardhadanadventure。Shehadbeenillinbedforseveraldaysandhersonhadnotcometovisither。Shewasalarmed。Thefeebleblazeoflifethatremainedinherbodywasblownintoaflamebyheranxietyandshecreptoutofbed，dressedandhurriedalongthehallwaytowardherson'sroom，shakingwithexaggeratedfears。Asshewentalongshesteadiedherselfwithherhand，slippedalongthepaperedwallsofthehallandbreathedwithdifficulty。Theairwhistledthroughherteeth。Asshehurriedforwardshethoughthowfoolishshewas。"Heisconcernedwithboyishaf-
　　fairs，"shetoldherself。"Perhapshehasnowbeguntowalkaboutintheeveningwithgirls。"
　　ElizabethWillardhadadreadofbeingseenbyguestsinthehotelthathadoncebelongedtoherfatherandtheownershipofwhichstillstoodre-
　　cordedinhernameinthecountycourthouse。Thehotelwascontinuallylosingpatronagebecauseofitsshabbinessandshethoughtofherselfasalsoshabby。
　　Herownroomwasinanobscurecornerandwhenshefeltabletoworkshevoluntarilyworkedamongthebeds，preferringthelaborthatcouldbedonewhentheguestswereabroadseekingtradeamongthemerchantsofWinesburg。
　　Bythedoorofherson'sroomthemotherkneltuponthefloorandlistenedforsomesoundfromwithin。Whensheheardtheboymovingaboutandtalkinginlowtonesasmilecametoherlips。GeorgeWillardhadahabitoftalkingaloudtohimselfandtohearhimdoingsohadalwaysgivenhismotherapeculiarpleasure。Thehabitinhim，shefelt，strengthenedthesecretbondthatexistedbetweenthem。Athousandtimesshehadwhisperedtoher-
　　selfofthematter。"Heisgropingabout，tryingtofindhimself，"shethought。"Heisnotadullclod，allwordsandsmartness。Withinhimthereisasecretsomethingthatisstrivingtogrow。ItisthethingI
　　letbekilledinmyself。"
　　Inthedarknessinthehallwaybythedoorthesickwomanaroseandstartedagaintowardherownroom。Shewasafraidthatthedoorwouldopenandtheboycomeuponher。Whenshehadreachedasafedistanceandwasabouttoturnacornerintoasecondhallwayshestoppedandbracingherselfwithherhandswaited，thinkingtoshakeoffatremblingfitofweaknessthathadcomeuponher。
　　Thepresenceoftheboyintheroomhadmadeherhappy。Inherbed，duringthelonghoursalone，thelittlefearsthathadvisitedherhadbecomegiants。
　　Nowtheywereallgone。"WhenIgetbacktomyroomIshallsleep，"shemurmuredgratefully。
　　ButElizabethWillardwasnottoreturntoherbedandtosleep。Asshestoodtremblinginthedarknessthedoorofherson'sroomopenedandtheboy'sfather，TomWillard，steppedout。Inthelightthatsteamedoutatthedoorhestoodwiththeknobinhishandandtalked。Whathesaidinfuriatedthewoman。
　　TomWillardwasambitiousforhisson。Hehadalwaysthoughtofhimselfasasuccessfulman，al-
　　thoughnothinghehadeverdonehadturnedoutsuccessfully。However，whenhewasoutofsightoftheNewWillardHouseandhadnofearofcominguponhiswife，heswaggeredandbegantodrama-
　　tizehimselfasoneofthechiefmenofthetown。Hewantedhissontosucceed。Heitwaswhohadse-
　　curedfortheboythepositionontheWinesburgEagle。Now，witharingofearnestnessinhisvoice，hewasadvisingconcerningsomecourseofconduct。
　　"Itellyouwhat，George，you'vegottowakeup，"
　　hesaidsharply。"WillHendersonhasspokentomethreetimesconcerningthematter。Hesaysyougoalongforhoursnothearingwhenyouarespokentoandactinglikeagawkygirl。Whatailsyou？"TomWillardlaughedgood-naturedly。"Well，Iguessyou'llgetoverit，"hesaid。"ItoldWillthat。You'renotafoolandyou'renotawoman。You'reTomWillard'ssonandyou'llwakeup。I'mnotafraid。
　　Whatyousayclearsthingsup。Ifbeinganewspapermanhadputthenotionofbecomingawriterintoyourmindthat'sallright。OnlyIguessyou'llhavetowakeuptodothattoo，eh？"
　　TomWillardwentbrisklyalongthehallwayanddownaflightofstairstotheoffice。Thewomaninthedarknesscouldhearhimlaughingandtalkingwithaguestwhowasstrivingtowearawayadulleveningbydozinginachairbytheofficedoor。Shereturnedtothedoorofherson'sroom。Theweak-
　　nesshadpassedfromherbodyasbyamiracleandshesteppedboldlyalong。Athousandideasracedthroughherhead。Whensheheardthescrapingofachairandthesoundofapenscratchinguponpaper，sheagainturnedandwentbackalongthehallwaytoherownroom。
　　AdefinitedeterminationhadcomeintothemindofthedefeatedwifeoftheWinesburghotelkeeper。
　　Thedeterminationwastheresultoflongyearsofquietandratherineffectualthinking。"Now，"shetoldherself，"Iwillact。Thereissomethingthreaten-
　　ingmyboyandIwillwarditoff。"ThefactthattheconversationbetweenTomWillardandhissonhadbeenratherquietandnatural，asthoughanunder-
　　standingexistedbetweenthem，maddenedher。Al-
　　thoughforyearsshehadhatedherhusband，herhatredhadalwaysbeforebeenaquiteimpersonalthing。Hehadbeenmerelyapartofsomethingelsethatshehated。Now，andbythefewwordsatthedoor，hehadbecomethethingpersonified。Inthedarknessofherownroomsheclenchedherfistsandglaredabout。Goingtoaclothbagthathungonanailbythewallshetookoutalongpairofsewingscissorsandheldtheminherhandlikeadagger。"I
　　willstabhim，"shesaidaloud。"HehaschosentobethevoiceofevilandIwillkillhim。WhenIhavekilledhimsomethingwillsnapwithinmyselfandI
　　willdiealso。Itwillbeareleaseforallofus。"
　　InhergirlhoodandbeforehermarriagewithTomWillard，Elizabethhadborneasomewhatshakyrep-
　　utationinWinesburg。Foryearsshehadbeenwhatiscalled"stage-struck"andhadparadedthroughthestreetswithtravelingmenguestsatherfather'shotel，wearingloudclothesandurgingthemtotellheroflifeinthecitiesoutofwhichtheyhadcome。
　　Onceshestartledthetownbyputtingonmen'sclothesandridingabicycledownMainStreet。
　　Inherownmindthetalldarkgirlhadbeeninthosedaysmuchconfused。Agreatrestlessnesswasinheranditexpresseditselfintwoways。Firsttherewasanuneasydesireforchange，forsomebigdefi-
　　nitemovementtoherlife。Itwasthisfeelingthathadturnedhermindtothestage。Shedreamedofjoiningsomecompanyandwanderingovertheworld，seeingalwaysnewfacesandgivingsome-
　　thingoutofherselftoallpeople。Sometimesatnightshewasquitebesideherselfwiththethought，butwhenshetriedtotalkofthemattertothemembersofthetheatricalcompaniesthatcametoWinesburgandstoppedatherfather'shotel，shegotnowhere。
　　Theydidnotseemtoknowwhatshemeant，orifshedidgetsomethingofherpassionexpressed，theyonlylaughed。"It'snotlikethat，"theysaid。
　　"It'sasdullanduninterestingasthishere。Nothingcomesofit。"
　　Withthetravelingmenwhenshewalkedaboutwiththem，andlaterwithTomWillard，itwasquitedifferent。Alwaystheyseemedtounderstandandsympathizewithher。Onthesidestreetsofthevil-
　　lage，inthedarknessunderthetrees，theytookholdofherhandandshethoughtthatsomethingunex-
　　pressedinherselfcameforthandbecameapartofanunexpressedsomethinginthem。
　　Andthentherewasthesecondexpressionofherrestlessness。Whenthatcameshefeltforatimere-
　　leasedandhappy。ShedidnotblamethemenwhowalkedwithherandlatershedidnotblameTomWillard。Itwasalwaysthesame，beginningwithkissesandending，afterstrangewildemotions，withpeaceandthensobbingrepentance。Whenshesobbedsheputherhanduponthefaceofthemanandhadalwaysthesamethought。Eventhoughhewerelargeandbeardedshethoughthehadbecomesuddenlyalittleboy。Shewonderedwhyhedidnotsobalso。
　　Inherroom，tuckedawayinacorneroftheoldWillardHouse，ElizabethWillardlightedalampandputitonadressingtablethatstoodbythedoor。A
　　thoughthadcomeintohermindandshewenttoaclosetandbroughtoutasmallsquareboxandsetitonthetable。Theboxcontainedmaterialformake-
　　upandhadbeenleftwithotherthingsbyatheatricalcompanythathadoncebeenstrandedinWines-
　　burg。ElizabethWillardhaddecidedthatshewouldbebeautiful。Herhairwasstillblackandtherewasagreatmassofitbraidedandcoiledaboutherhead。
　　Thescenethatwastotakeplaceintheofficebelowbegantogrowinhermind。Noghostlyworn-outfigureshouldconfrontTomWillard，butsomethingquiteunexpectedandstartling。Tallandwithduskycheeksandhairthatfellinamassfromhershoul-
　　ders，afigureshouldcomestridingdownthestair-
　　waybeforethestartledloungersinthehoteloffice。
　　Thefigurewouldbesilent——itwouldbeswiftandterrible。Asatigresswhosecubhadbeenthreatenedwouldsheappear，comingoutoftheshadows，steal-
　　ingnoiselesslyalongandholdingthelongwickedscissorsinherhand。
　　Withalittlebrokensobinherthroat，ElizabethWillardblewoutthelightthatstooduponthetableandstoodweakandtremblinginthedarkness。Thestrengththathadbeenasamiracleinherbodyleftandshehalfreeledacrossthefloor，clutchingatthebackofthechairinwhichshehadspentsomanylongdaysstaringoutoverthetinroofsintothemainstreetofWinesburg。InthehallwaytherewasthesoundoffootstepsandGeorgeWillardcameinatthedoor。Sittinginachairbesidehismotherhebegantotalk。"I'mgoingtogetoutofhere，"hesaid。"Idon'tknowwhereIshallgoorwhatIshalldobutIamgoingaway。"
　　Thewomaninthechairwaitedandtrembled。Animpulsecametoher。"Isupposeyouhadbetterwakeup，"shesaid。"Youthinkthat？Youwillgotothecityandmakemoney，eh？Itwillbebetterforyou，youthink，tobeabusinessman，tobebriskandsmartandalive？"Shewaitedandtrembled。
　　Thesonshookhishead。"IsupposeIcan'tmakeyouunderstand，butoh，IwishIcould，"hesaidearnestly。"Ican'teventalktofatheraboutit。Idon'ttry。Thereisn'tanyuse。Idon'tknowwhatIshalldo。Ijustwanttogoawayandlookatpeopleandthink。"
　　Silencefellupontheroomwheretheboyandwomansattogether。Again，asontheothereve-
　　nings，theywereembarrassed。Afteratimetheboytriedagaintotalk。"Isupposeitwon'tbeforayearortwobutI'vebeenthinkingaboutit，"hesaid，risingandgoingtowardthedoor。"SomethingfathersaidmakesitsurethatIshallhavetogoaway。"Hefumbledwiththedoorknob。Intheroomthesilencebecameunbearabletothewoman。Shewantedtocryoutwithjoybecauseofthewordsthathadcomefromthelipsofherson，buttheexpressionofjoyhadbecomeimpossibletoher。"Ithinkyouhadbet-
　　tergooutamongtheboys。Youaretoomuchin-
　　doors，"shesaid。"IthoughtIwouldgoforalittlewalk，"repliedthesonsteppingawkwardlyoutoftheroomandclosingthedoor。
　　THEPHILOSOPHER
　　DOCTORPARCIVALwasalargemanwithadroopingmouthcoveredbyayellowmustache。Healwaysworeadirtywhitewaistcoatoutofthepocketsofwhichprotrudedanumberofthekindofblackci-
　　garsknownasstogies。Histeethwereblackandirregularandtherewassomethingstrangeabouthiseyes。Thelidofthelefteyetwitched；itfelldownandsnappedup；itwasexactlyasthoughthelidoftheeyewereawindowshadeandsomeonestoodinsidethedoctor'sheadplayingwiththecord。
　　DoctorParcivalhadalikingfortheboy，GeorgeWillard。ItbeganwhenGeorgehadbeenworkingforayearontheWinesburgEagleandtheacquain-