Harmless By Van Nance Nephi and his father had lived down by the tracks ever since I could remember. Folks said they lived there 'cause they were so poor. The old house they lived in was dingy with the smoke of many trains that passed it day after day, and it didn't have any curtains at the windows. It didn't even have any carpets on the floors, so folks said; Nephi and his father couldn't afford any. The old man led a purty hard life, I guess, what with his money troubles, and then his wife up and dyin' when Nephi was born. When she passed away, she left him the house and the farm, such as it was. 'Twasn't much for him to go on; end he was gettin' along in years, so he couldn't work the farm like it should've been worked. And when she died, things just weren't the same around there The old man grieved for her something terrible, and folks began to think that he would lose his mind, but he finally began to get over it and to take an interest in the farm again. Then there was little Nephi. He was just about all the old man had left to remember his wife by. He sure set great store by that son of his'n. More than was right, some folks say, but Nephi was all he had to love after Sarah died. He seemed to see somethin' about the boy that reminded him of his dead wife, and that just made him love little Nephi all the more. But the old man worried a lot about Nephi. Somehow the boy just didn't seem right. He had awfully big hands for such a little feller, and his eyes looked vacant, like they didn't have any pupils in 'em. Folks said that Nephi didn't walk until he was nearly four, and he never talked till he was seven. It was about then, so they say, that the old man took Nephi to see the Doc. What the Doc told him nearly killed the old man; it was that much of a shock. Not that the old boy hadn't been expectin' it all along, seein' as how Nephi had always been a mite queer, but when the Doc told him that Nephi would grow up, but his mind wouldn't grow up with him, it took everything right out from under the old man. Folks said that it was then that he began to lose interest in the farm. He just kept worrying about his son and lettin' the farm go until finally he owed so many bills he had to mortgage the house and his few cows to pay them. And now the old man had only three things left, his cows, the house, and Nephi. The mortgage on the house and cows would be due this month, so the gossip went; and everybody knew that he wouldn't be able to pay. He would lose his home and his cow? and then he would have only Nephi. Nephi wouldn't be able to help his father any 'cause everybody knew that he was too queer to help anybody. All he ever did was to drive the cows to pasture every morning and take them back to the corral each night. Me and Jim, our hired man, used to see him each morning when we was goin' out to do our own milk-in'. He would come up the road usually singin' to hisself and always clappin' his hands together like a child playin' patty-cake. It looked funny to see him walkin' behind the herd and clappin' those big hands together. One mornin' I said to Jim, "What makes Nephi so queer?" "I dunno," said Jim. "He's always been that way every since he was born." "It's too bad. He could be a lot of help to his pa if he wasn't so queer. I feel sorry for him. He's so strong, and yet he looks so helpless. Ma says he's good as gold and wouldn't hurt a flea. She says that we ought to treat him as though he didn't have no affliction." "I dunno," said Jim. "I don't think he should be let to run around loose in this town. He's too big and strong, and his eyes they're so vacant like as if they was hidin' something. He ought to be put some place where he can't do no harm." "But, Jim, he ain't never hurt anybody. Ma says sc. She says he's as harmless as a new born lamb." "Maybe," said Jim, "but his eyes is hidin' too much to suit me. And then there's the way he took to that calf that was born last month. It just ain't right for a feller to talk to an animal and pet him the way he does. You'd think it was a baby the way he carries on over it." "But golly, Jim, that calf would've died with the scour if Nephi hadn't taken care of it. Pa says that Nephi set up there in the cow pasture for three days and nights just a watchin' over the little feller and feedin' him limewater and waitin' for him to get better. Why, he even carried it down to the corral after it got well, 'cause he thought it was too weak to walk." "I know," said Jim, "and that's what I mean. It just ain't right for him to pay so much attention to that animal." I didn't say no more, and Jim went on milkin' for awhile. Then he stopped and turned 'round and looked straight at me and said: "Joey, I got somethin' to tell you that I ain't never told nobody before. It's about Nephi." "Oh?" "I aint never said nothin' cause all the folks around here think Nephi's a fine boy and can't help his affliction and ought to be pitied, and they're down on anybody who don't think likewise, so I figured it was better to keep my mouth shut. But I'll tell you, Joey, 'cause I know that you'll keep still. You can keep a secret." I beamed with pride, and Jim went on talkin'. "Do you remember Mrs. Whitcomb's dog?" I thought for a minute, and then nodded that I did. It was a big brown and white shepherd dog, an' it was always chasin' somethin', either cars, or horses or cows. "Yes," I said. "I remember it. It got killed a couple of weeks ago, didn't it? They found it lyin' dead by the side of the road. It was all swollen like maybe it had been kicked or beat or somethin'. Folks said it probably got killed chasin' cars." "That's what they figured," said Jim, "but that ain't how he got killed. I know, 'cause I saw him when it happened." "How did he get killed?" I asked. "Nephi killed him." "Nephi!" "Yes! I was comin' down from the upper forty where I'd been a harrowin' and when I got just about to Nephi's I saw the old lady's dog. It was in there with all them cows and it was havin' a heck of a time a chasin' them. You know it always liked to play. Well, about this time Nephi came up to take the cows (Continued on Page 22) page eighteen "Somehow the boy just didn't seem right." page nineteen