"Into my heart an air that kills From yon far country blows. What are those blue remembered hills? What spires, what farm are those?

That is the land of lost content. I see it shining plain, The happy highways where I went And cannot come again!.

-- A. E. Housman

* * *

Chapter One

"Dad's going to get you for that."

The two blond boys stood facing each other in the carport of the two-story red brick house. The blue bicycle belonging to the younger boy leaned against the wall nearby.

Barron was in trouble again. The situation was undeniable and the prediction was most likely, but still, the smugness and obvious satisfaction with which his older brother proclaimed the matter thoroughly galled him. Desperately he searched for some rationalization.

"It's not fair!" Barron exclaimed. "You were flying the plane too!"

"Yeah, but you wrecked it! You broke the window, too!"

"But, Phillip, it was an accident. Daddy didn't punish me when I broke a window before!"

"No, but he warned us not to fly the plane near the house. When he finds out about this, he's going to get mad, and you're going to be in big trouble," Phillip continued in the same gloating tone.

"Then I just won't be around here! Any more!" Barron shouted, now thoroughly exasperated.

"What? Are you going to run away? Oh, you'll really get it for that!"

"You'll have to find me first!" Barron declared. Before Phillip could respond, Barron was on his bike and gone.

The Williamson family at first glance seemed unremarkable, unless of course one considers the material accoutrements and genteel affectations of the upper middle-class in Twentieth Century America as exceptional in themselves. For some the trappings of wealth and professional achievement reflect the inner grace and inherent appreciation of excellence. For others the quality and size of their homes, the neighborhood in which they reside, the objects with which they surround themselves, all remain merely trappings of a "greaterness" of which they may be consciously desirous but remain essentially incapable. The Williamsons were people of the latter sort.

Although they would have been outraged to hear it said of them, both Pete and Beverley Williamson were in fact the sort of people who had "fought, kicked, and clawed their way up from the bottom to the middle of the heap and were now determined to stay there." Many people in town, especially the ladies, never let it be forgotten that they remembered when Pete and Beverley had both been nobodies from nowhere. That is, they remembered when Pete had been the ragged son of a lumberyard worker and Beverley and her parents had lived in a shack that "most white people would have walked away from."

Now. of course, Pete was Dr. Peter Williamson, a prominent, (or certainly, a successfully established) orthopedic surgeon, living proof of the U. S. Army's power to help one "be all that he can be." Yeah, it was a bitch at the time, but the years he had served over in 'Nam had proven time well spent, so far as the benefits and opportunities that it had opened up for higher education and professional training. And the money. His dad had pulled in maybe five thousand in a year of forty-hour work weeks, when benefits were unheard of, except for social security and workman's comp. For ten years Pete had never netted less than fifty thousand. He owned a fine red brick house on Belwood Circle, he and his wife each had a Cadillac, never more than four years old, and there were servants or services to take care of most of the housework and yardwork.

No, Pete had not done badly at all either by himself or by his family.

And quite a family he had built up, too. There was his Annie, who was all that any parent could hope for in a daughter. Then Pete and Beverley were doubly blessed with three more children who were all boys. Yessir, Pete Williamson was proud of his sons. Phillip, the oldest, just about to turn twelve, was the sports champion and student that Pete could have been as a kid if he hadn't had to bust his tail riding a bike all over town making deliveries for Old Man McCrary's Pharmacy at that age. And Boyd, the five-year-old was the sweetest little tyke with big brown eyes and brown hair like his father. The little fellow was always ready to play ball or wrestle or jump up into his daddy's arms. And then there was Barron. At nine years old, Pete's middle son was not without his own talents and prospects, but already seemed as aware as anyone of the widespread opinion that he might never be thought quite a champion like his older brother, nor a charmer like his younger. Still, all in all, with themselves and their kids, he and Bevvie had done pretty well, Pete thought..

Ah, yes, his highschool sweetheart had remained the only feminine attachment that he needed. Now, almost forty, she seemed little changed over the years . A little rounder, a few wrinkles here and there, but still choice for him. She didn't run her mouth the way a lot of women did. She appreciated what they had together, and was at least smart enough to know that without his years of work and study they would have _d_a_m_n_ precious little of the good life they had now. She almost never argued with him, and on these few occasions it usually didn't take long to get her to see things from his point of view. She was a fine mother, too, especially with very small children. She knew all the right mommythings to say and do, and as long as Annie followed her example, their daughter would also make a fine wife and mother some day.

With such musings Pete pulled his big dark-gray Caddy into the driveway of his home on Belwood Circle. Phillip was there to greet him almost as soon as he had opened the car door. But this afternoon Phillip was clearly troubled by something .

"Hi, Dad."

"Hi, son. What's the matter?"

"Barron's run away."

Struggling to override the internal alarm that is inevitably triggered in a parent upon hearing such a statement about his child, Pete managed, although not without great effort at first, to maintain his external composure. Carefully he asked Phillip:

"How do you know he ran away?"

"He said so."

"How long ago was this?"

"About an hour, but he said he wasn't coming back, ever!":

"What happened?"

"We were flying the Spitfire in the side yard, and Barron flew it toward the house. When I warned him not to fly too close to the house, he didn't pay attention and flew the plane into Boyd's bedroom window. The window's broken, so's the plane, and Barron runs away."

"He just ran away?"

"No, sir. He was on his bicycle. I told him not to. I told him that you'd be real mad at him if he did. I told him he'd be in big trouble when you found him after you got home. But he ran off anyway."

"I guess you told him enough. Did he say anything to you?"

"Yes, he said that you would have to find him first."

Pete's voice dropped ominously. "I think we can manage that," he said, then, after a few seconds, asked:"Where are your mother and Boyd? Do they know about this?"

"Sure they do. Mom and Boyd got back about twenty minutes ago. They're going around in Mom's car, looking for Barron. I would have gone too, except that Mom told me to stay here in case Barron decided to come home or phone us, or if someone phoned about him."

"I see..Well, we'll wait for Bev and Boyd to get back. Then, if they haven't found him, you and me, we'll go looking for him. He can't be too far away yet, and it's too soon to get anyone else involved."

Within the hour Beverley's car pulled up into the carport. Barron was with Boyd and their mother. Her recent anxiety over the whereabouts of her middle son had evidently been replaced by an exponentially greater flood of vexation. As they stepped out of the car and walked toward the side door, Beverley Williamson's reproachful voice preceded them:

"Honestly, Barron, I just don't see how you could do such a thing! And you knew what you were doing, too! I am completely put out with you. and, this time you are going to be punished. I ought to turn you over my knee and spank you myself. And believe me, you are not too big for me to do just that!"

"I'm sorry, Momma,' Barron finally said in his alto voice, but insincerely and rather sullenly.

"I think you will be when your father hears about this!" she replied.

Although Pete Williamson was not a tall man, physically he seemed huge to his children, especially when he was angry or displeased. Barron felt very small as he stood before him in his father's study. The remains of the Spitfire lay on the top of the desk.

"You got anything to tell me?" Pete asked.

"I'm sorry. Daddy. I didn't mean to do it. "

"To do what?"

"To break the plane or the window."

"It's not just that. You broke them because you did something that I told you not to do. You disobeyed me. Then you ran off."

"But I was just around the block at the Sheltons'."

"That doesn't matter. You didn't tell anyone where you were going and you didn't ask permission to go."

"I guess."

"What do you mean, you guess?"

"Yes, sir."

"And what about that impudent language you used?"

"Sir?"

"You know, that you didn't care about being in trouble, because we would have to find you before we could do anything about it. You'd better tell the truth. You said that or something like it, didn't you?"

Barron looked at the floor, said nothing.

"Answer me, boy. Did you say anything like that?"

"Maybe."

"All right. That tells me you did. Let's get this over with."

"Daddy, what are you going to do to me?"

"What do you think I ought to do?"

"I don't know."

"Well, what do you think I would do to Boyd if he ran off somewhere without telling me or your mother?"

"Give him a spanking?"

"That's right, and that's what you're going to get."

"No, please, Daddy."

"Don't argue with me. Take your pants off."

Barron looked stunned. Although he could remember several instances when he had been spanked on the bare bottom when he was much younger, .for several years now, corporal punishment had been applied, only to the extent of giving him a few perfunctory swats on the seat of the pants to remind him of parental authority when he seemed in danger of doubting or challenging it. In fact, he for some time now had come to believe that at nine years old he was too big for that kind of punishment, which was reserved nowadays only for Boyd when he chose to be really naughty. Now he was learning otherwise. In a crushed tone he asked:

"Off? Couldn't I just pull them down? That's how you spank Boyd, isn't it?"

"How I punish Boyd or anyone else is none of your business, young man. The main concern is that you have gotten way too big for your britches. So get them off like I told you.:

Barron obeyed. Saying no more, he undid his belt, then unfastened, unzipped and lowered his jeans. Then, since they were new and still slightly large-sized. he was able to slide the cuffs of his jeans over his sneakers and off.. A feeling of unreality came over him for a moment as, from somewhere, he suddenly felt a draft on his bare legs and caught sight of a blond boy who, he realized was himself reflected in a large wall mirror. The strangeness, he realized was not in the sight nor the sensation of standing in his shirt and jockey briefs, but rather in the contrast of having both his socks and shoes on and his pants off. Only now did his father shut the door, slowly and deliberately it seemed to Barron. "All right, now, come over here to me," Pete directed seating himself on the large ottoman in front of his chair. When Barron had approached and stood at his father's right side, Pete drew the boy over his knees, face down. Although the tail of Barron's light blue cotton shirt did not cover the seat of his underpants, nevertheless he felt it being pulled up slightly, but the full awareness of the quality of his forthcoming punishment did not dawn upon the boy until he felt his underpants being pulled down to his thighs.

"No, Daddy, please don't spank me," Barron begged softly.

Pete's open palm landed with a stinging smack dead center on Barron's bare bottom.

"Ow!" Barron screamed.

Pete paused. Quietly and gravely he told his son: "Do not scream. No one is killing you or injuring you. You are being punished in a way that you deserve for something wrong that you did. You may cry but do not scream. You will get five additional smacks for the next time that you scream."

The big square palm struck Barron's buttocks again.

Again Barron screamed.

In the same ominously calm voice Pete continued:"You were going to get ten. Now it's fifteen. That means, you have thirteen still coming. Unless you scream again. then it's seventeen."

"Daddy, I thought thirteen and five made eighteen," Barron wondered.

"It does. But if you have thirteen coming still, and you scream after the first one , that reduces the base amount to twelve. Understand?"

"Not really."

"Just don't scream."

"But it hurts. A lot."

"It's going to hurt a lot more if you scream."

"Okay."

An extremely hard slap descended with a loud smack and stung mightily. Barron shut his eyes and clenched his teeth to keep from yelling.

"Don't say 'okay' to me."

"Yes, sir," Barron said tearfully.

"That's better. All right, an even dozen you've got left. Let's get it over with."

Afterward Barron lay crying profusely but almost soundlessly, face down across his father's lap. The air in the room had become indescribably heavy and stale. A minute or so passed. Barron remained in place, limp and dejected. Finally his father spoke, gentler now:

"That's it, son. You can get up now."

Slowly Barron stood up, gingerly ran his palms over the smarting flesh, then pulled his underpants up over a very reddened bottom. Finally his father spoke again:

"Do you feel all right, son?"

"It sure hurts back there!" Barron said at last.

"Well, after a spanking it's supposed to," Pete replied. Then, showing Barron his right hand, he added:"It didn't do me a lot of good. That's for sure. Luckily I'm not scheduled for any surgeries the next few days. That would be a mess... Now go apologize to your mother and brothers for what you put them through."

"Yessir," the boy replied, reaching for his jeans.

"Barron!" his father's voice stopped him.

"Sir?"

"I said for you to go apologize to your mother and brothers."

"Yessir, I'm going to do that as soon as I put my pants on."

"No, Barron, you're going to do it now."

"But what about my pants?"

"What about them? They'll be fine. Nobody's going to bother them."

"You want me to leave my pants off?"

"That's right."

"You won't let me put them on now?"

"Also correct."

"But why, Daddy?"

"I think that this way will give you some time to think about what you did today. You really pulled some stunts that you shouldn't even have thought about."

"But, Daddy, you already spanked me, and I've said I'm sorry, and I won't ever do it again. Honestly!"

"Maybe so, son, but I just want to make sure you do think it over long and hard. Maybe you've heard the saying: 'Let the punishment suit the crime.' Well, years ago in these parts when a youngster really acted up and folks said that he had gotten too big for his britches, they meant it. That youngster got a trip to the woodshed, and before he even went to the woodshed, his britches came off. And they stayed off, not just while he was getting his rear end tanned, but for quite a while afterward as well, maybe even a day or two. Believe me, that gave him something to think about before he acted up again. So you get a chance to think about it too. Now go apologize to our family before I have to tell you again."

"Yes, sir," Barron said glumly. And he went out of the room to apologize to the rest of the family in his underpants.

CHAPTER TWO

The development of personal modesty is a subject still ill-understood in human psychology. Many adults assume that concern about one's personal neatness and style is something largely absent in the first decade of one's life. On a hot day, a four-year-old would just as soon go around in underpants as in shorts, and probably would not mind wearing nothing at all. By the time a child reaches school age, certain concepts of the acceptable and the forbidden have begun to crystalize. Increasingly with each year, the child who wears torn, neglected, out-sized or outmoded clothing feels the critical eye and hears the critical words of his peers as well as adults.

In the neighborhood where Pete Williamson had grown up in the years just after the Second World War, many families had lived in conditions that would seem appalling by today's standards but then were merely typical of the lower classes. Not only shoes but clothing itself was barely within the means of these poor white families. Each person rarely owned .more than three changes of seasonal clothing—one set of "dress-up" clothes and two changes of everyday clothes. In warm weather shoes were worn only to work, to school or to church. Twice a year the seasonal clothes were stored away so that the following year they would last to be worn again by the same person or, if outgrown, handed down to a younger child. Every child was supposed to wear presentable clothes to school and church. Therefore, to preserve these special clothes, children were obliged to take off and hang up these 'good" clothes as soon as they came home. The rest of the day they would wear whatever else they could.

For several years during the middle of his childhood Pete had suffered through the routine of Laundry Day. His mother would gather all his clothes except the underpants that he had on, and in that state he and his brother Boyd would be left until the laundry had been done. It hadn't really bothered him: if the weather was chilly, he would put his coat on, but why bother with that in hot weather? Then Andy Robinson, a new kid from down the block, came over on one of those afternoons and saw him in his underpants. And laughed at him.

"What's so funny?" Pete had asked.

"You are,"Andy had answered. "Running around in your underpants like a four-year-old! Aren't you embarrassed to answer the door without your clothes on?"

"What's the big deal?" Pete had asked. "You're not a girl."

"Yeah, but you didn't know it was me when you answered the door. What would you have said if it had been some lady?"

"All my shirts and pants are being washed," Pete explained.

"Yeah, well put on a robe, pajamas, or even your swimsuit. Don't go running around the house and yard with no pants on."

"I've got some pants on. I've got my underpants on." Suddenly Pete reflected on the point that in fact he did not have a robe, pajamas. or even a swimsuit to his name. "Those aren't real pants," Andy had countered. "If you came to school like that, everybody would laugh at you."

And though Pete felt frustrated and embarrassed by what Andy had said to him, from that day he began to realize that there was a different world at hand, one that made him question and feel ashamed of the one into which he had been born and lived all his life. He learned that, like Andy, some boys had a set of clothes for every day of the week and weren't obliged to wear the same clothes for three or four days; that these boys changed their socks and underwear every day ; they also bathed every day, since they had plumbing with hot water and did not have to heat their bath water in kettles on the stove on Saturday night like the Williamsons.

It also surprised Pete to learn that Andy was punished by his parents only by being sent to his room, or, at worst, receiving a few summary swats with a paddle across the seat of his pants. Suddenly upon hearing this, Pete was moved to lie that the same method was practiced in his home. Now he dearly hoped that Andy never found out the truth, that when Pete or his brother had committed some major misbehavior, then he, or (they (if both brothers were involved) had to undress in the kitchen and walk naked through the back yard to the woodshed for a strapping or a switching, then walk back through the yard to the house. In cold weather he was only required to do so half-naked, but since it was the lower half, the punishment was every bit as painful and little if any less embarrassing. The boys' only consolation when they were due to "get a whipping" was that, since it was usually at their father's hands, it occurred after he had arrived home from work, that is to say, after dark, when their plight would be hidden from their neighbors' eyes.

Thirty years later Pete still had forgotten neither the pain of those whippings in the woodshed nor the shame of having to walk across the back yard, to them with a bare bottom, then from them with a bare red bottom. No, compared to what he'd had to go through as a kid, his own kids didn't know what real punishment was. On the other hand, his parents hadn't done such a bad job of raising him, had they? And though the other boys seemed to be doing all right, he was beginning to worry about Barron.

Why, the boy was starting to say "okay" instead of "yes, sir," and that couldn't be tolerated. No, not for a minute.

Well, today Barron had had a mild dose of the old-fashioned medicine, Pete concluded to himself. If that doesn't work, we can make it a lot stronger. It's not a question of whether it will work, only of how much and how long it will take!'

****************************************

For Barron the situation was exquisitely embarrassing. Unlike his father as a child, Barron had been accustomed to every sort of clothing for every conceivable occasion for a person his age. Barron had an abundance of summer clothes, winter clothes, school clothes, play clothes, two suits for church and high social events; he had his Cub Scout uniform, his soccer, baseball and football uniforms, several swimsuits too. He had three sets of summer pajamas and three of winter pajamas--the Williamson boys had been well trained always to sleep in pajamas!-- and even had a light bathrobe for warm weather and a heavy one for cold weather. If he tore or soiled any of his clothing, he had only to go to his room and change to something else. The idea that there might not be anything available for him to put on had never occurred to him. To Barron and both his brothers, whatever else might vary in one's attire, shirts, pants, socks and shoes were to be worn at all times during the day and pajamas to be worn after bedtime or when one was ill. When one wore pajamas, one did not leave one's bedroom without a robe and slippers. White T-shirts and jockey briefs were strictly underwear, that is, meant to be worn under one's outer clothing. Little kids who weren't quite toilet-trained or couldn't dress themselves yet might run around in underpants, but big boys always wear pants, especially in front of their mother and older sister. So now when Barron emerged from his father's study without his pants, his condition could hardly fail to be extremely uncomfortable to him and highly remarkable to the rest of his family. Nevertheless, sensitive to parental barometers, Phillip and Annie said nothing as Barron crept shamefacedly into the living room. Almost mechanically, he faced his mother and siblings and declared:

"I'm sorry for what I did today."

Beverley's anger gave way to maternal pity at the sight of Barron's blushing and tearful face and at the sound of his apology. Embracing him, she cooed:

"It's all right now, Darling. You've been punished and you've learned your lesson. Mommy and Daddy were both just so worried because you went off without telling anyone where you were going, and you didn't ask permission first. You just mustn't ever do that again!"

Then, glimpsing the clock on the mantle and noticing the time, she remarked: "Oh, goodness! It's nearly six o'clock. I have to get dinner ready!"

Barron was blushing even deeper as his mother left the room. Here he was, nine years old , and not only did his mother hug him when he didn't have any pants on, but also, as she left, she had patted him on the seat of his underpants as though he were five years old and it were perfectly natural for him to be going around like this.

None of this , of course, was lost on Phillip. No sooner had Beverley walked out of the room than he approached Barron and patted his younger brother on the bottom as he said, mimicking his mother's saccharine voice and mannerisms: "Yes, darling, you just mustn't ever do that again!"

Furiously but without shouting, Barron retorted: "_d_a_m_n_ you, Phillip! Leave my behind alone!'

Ecstatic at his brother's reaction, Phillip continues his taunting:

"Woo-woo! Dad wouldn't like to hear you using bad words. Then you might get another spanking!"

Fortunately Annie intervened. now."Hush, Phillip!" she demanded."You don't need to be so mean to Barron. You wouldn't want to be in his shoes right now."

"That's the truth!" Phillip conceded, then added: with a snide laugh: "Especially since if I were him, shoes are about all I'd be in right now!"

"Phillip, you're such a brat!" Annie reproached him. Her advocacy had the immediate effect of calming Barron somewhat, though Phillip's mockery deeply rankled him and compounded the unhappy memories that he would long have of this day. Surprisingly, Barron was relieved that it was his sister who asked the inevitable question:

"Anyhow, Barron, why don't you have pants on?"

"Daddy made me take them off, and he won't let me put them back on today," he answered.

"Why not?" Annie asked in sympathy and amazement.

"Oh, he said something about me acting too big for my britches. So I guess this is part of my punishment."

Annie only shook her head at the news, but Phillip, ever the aspiring wit, remarked:

"Well, I sure hope it works,'cause you don't have any pants smaller than the ones you have on now, and if you make Dad think you're too big for them, then you'll be in REAL bad shape!"

Chapter Three

After a supper of leftovers, the Williamson family settled in for what might have been an evening free of further unpleasantness, except for one development: Barron had company. Eddie Shelton, the new kid on the block, a freckle-faced, full-lipped boy with large hazel eyes and auburn hair, eleven years old and tall for his age, came to see Barron in the hope that, since there was still enough light outside—thanks to Daylight Saving Time—they might play ball outside for a while.

Barron had been watching television in the den when the doorbell rang. As his father got up to answer it, Barron felt no concern, since he assumed that it must be some salesperson or the paper carrier coming to collect for the month. To his renewed chagrin, however, a moment later he heard his father call: "Barron, come out here. You have company."

"But, Daddy--!" Barron started to protest.

'No buts about it, Barron. Get out here now!" Pete's voice called.

When Dr. Williamson had opened the door, he had answered Eddie's initial question by telling him:"No, Eddie, Barron can't come outside right now, but you may come in and see him if you like."

"Sure,- I mean, yes, sir," Eddie had replied, remembering in time what a stickler for manners Dr. Williamson was.

Then, of course, as soon as Barron had come out to the living room, Pete excused himself, leaving Barron alone with his uninvited guest.

"Eddie felt somewhat awkward as he immediately noticed Barron's state of apparel. "Gee, Barron," he remarked,"I didn't know you went to bed so early."

"What do you mean?" Barron remarked with noticeable irritation. "I'm not going to bed yet!" Too late he realized that he had just destroyed his best and probably his last chance of saving face in this situation.

"Then how come you're going around in your underpants?" Eddie asked bluntly.

"Oh...," Barron began in rising discomfiture and concluded by lying: "sometimes I go around like this on hot days. It's a lot cooler, you know."

"Really?" Eddie asked incredulously. "Gee, I'd be sort of embarrassed, especially in front of my mother and sister. You go around like this a lot in warm, weather?'

"Sure I do," Barron persisted.

Unfortunately, his mother, passing by on her way to tend one of her many concerns around the house, overheard the last snatch of the boys' conversation. Immediately she turned and chided her son:

"Barron, shame on you! You know it's a sin to tell a lie. Now you tell Eddie the truth, since you decided to discuss the matter."

"I don't think he wants to discuss the matter, Mrs. Williamson," Eddie stated, trying to avoid an increasingly awkward situation.

"Well, he may very well not," Beverley replied,:but that doesn't excuse telling a lie. And since Barron evidently won't tell you the truth, then I will. Eddie, this afternoon Barron was very naughty. When he came to your home a few hours ago, he had run off without permission and without telling anyone where he was going. He had to be punished for that. So when we got Barron home again, his father gave him a good sound spanking on the bare bottom. Then, since this young man had acted too big for his britches, he is also being punished by having to go without pants for a while. I bet that would make you think twice about how you behaved, wouldn't it?"

"Yes, ma'am, it sure would," Eddie answered.

"I thought so. Now why don't you boys run along and play somewhere besides the living room. You know, this is the one room that I insist on having straight at all times. Why don't you go upstairs."

"Yes, ma'am," the boys agreed, and went.

Upstairs in Barron's room the two boys spent a pleasant fifteen minutes looking at and talking about Barron;s baseball card collection. Then they were just about to open Barron's newest Lego set when Boyd came into the room.

"What do you want?" Barron asked with annoyance.

"I want to play too," Boyd declared.

"Go away. We're busy," Barron told him.

"Mommy and Daddy told me I could come up here," Boyd said defiantly.

"Yeah? Well,..." Barron began, but Eddie interrupted:

"Hey, Barron, let me show you what I do to my little Brother Bobby when he gets to be a pest." And without waiting for a response, he seized the large down pillow from Barron's bed and playfully hit Boyd over the head with it. Boyd squealed in delight and ran to his room, only to return a few minutes later with two equally large pillows.

"Oh, boy!" Barron exclaimed gleefully. "Now we can have a super pillow fight.!"

For several minutes the three boys had huge fun pummeling each other with the large pillows. Their merriment abruptly ended, however, when Eddie swung a mighty blow at Barron's shoulder, and as Barron deftly sidestepped at the last instant, the pillow came down on the bedpost and split open. At that very moment the door opened and Dr. Williamson entered the room.

"What the hell is going on here?" he demanded.

"We were just having a pillow fight, Daddy," Boyd declared.

"Go to your mother this instant, Boyd," Pete commanded. Boyd went.

To the others Pete continued: "You know, I don't allow rough-housing."

"But, Daddy, we weren't hurting each other. It was just a pillow fight, " Barron contended.,- his big mistake.

"Son," Pete asked with withering calm in his voice,"what do you use for brains, oatmeal? You disobey the most important rules, then try to play jailhouse lawyer about it. Now, look: The pillows that your grandmother stuffed and stitched by hand are now ruined, your room is a disaster zone, and after the session that we had this afternoon you're still arguing with me. Well, I think we need some stronger medicine here!"

Realizing what Dr. Williamson was intimating, Eddie declared:

"Well, goodbye, everybody, I think I have to be getting home now."

"Oh, you do, do you?" Pete addressed the boy sarcastically, then concluded quite seriously:"Not so fast, you! If you took part in the offense, you should also take part in the punishment. "

"Punish me? But you're not my father!" Eddie protested.

"I'm well aware of that, young man," Pete said sternly. "As for what I can and cannot do, that depends on what your father has to say. So, we're going to call him right now and find out about that."

Pete proved correct on that point, too. Eddie's father was very annoyed with his son for running off to play without having finished his chores in the kitchen. Moreover, as Barron had done earlier that day, Eddie had left without asking permission and without informing his parents of his whereabouts. Eddie's parents had no more toleration for such behavior than did Barron's. Ordinarily the Sheltons would have had great reservations about letting a neighbor discipline their child with corporal punishment; tonight, however, Mr. Shelton was expecting company on business. Everything had to be orderly and pleasant around the house. The people were ultra-liberal zillionaires (inherited money) who had just moved here from California, in short the sort of people to whom one just can't turn and say:"Excuse me. but I have to go beat my son's ass." No, better let Williamson take care of it. That would teach Eddie a lesson he wouldn't forget soon. if ever! So it was, not with pleasure, but with a certain measure of satisfaction that Shelton told his son:

"You got into trouble with Barron at his home. I agree with Barron's father that you should get the same punishment as Barron."

"Daddy," Eddie pleaded in panic,"sometimes they make Barron take his pants down when they punish him. Do I have to if they tell me to?"

"Not for any funny stuff, but if Dr. Williamson just wants to blister your behind, then the answer is yes. Understand?"

"Yessir," Eddie acknowledged glumly.

"All right,, boys" Dr. Williamson informed them. "I always believe in letting the punishment fit the crime. So here's what it's going to be: You each get five with the strap on the bare bottom. Then you clean up this mess. Every last feather. Then you can pull up, and you, Eddie, may go home welcome to come back again. But not before then, understand?"

"Yessir," the two older boys answered.

But Eddie obviously did not understand one detail, for as soon as Pete stepped out of the room to fetch the strap, Eddie asked Barron:

"What does he mean by 'pull up'?"

Again Barron blushed. "What do you think he means?" he replied with exasperation, then added: "You'll find out soon enough."

Indeed he did. Within minutes Pete had returned, carrying doubled up in his right hand a dark leather razor-strap. Then he declared: "I'm a firm believer in equal treatment. Barron, you're first. So, get ready. Eddie, watch closely. When it's time for your turn, make sure that you're ready just exactly like him. Understand?'

"No, sir," Eddie said softly.

Softly but ominously, Pete asked: "Are you disobeying me?"

"No, sir," Eddie repeated. "You asked me if I understand, and I don't."

"Then listen: Watch closely what happens to Barron. When your turn comes, be sure that you're ready for the same thing, dressed exactly the same way, positioned the same way. Now do you understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"Fine." Then, turning to his son, Pete commanded: "Barron, get 'em down in back and lie over my knee."

Pete seated himself on a padded chest. With miserable resignation Barron pulled down his jockey underpants in the rear until the elastic waistband hugged the intersection of thighs and buttocks, thus framing his bare bottom. Glumly he walked the four steps to his father's side and lay down over his father's knee in a position familiar to him already once today. With a mixture of fascination and revulsion Eddie noticed that the skin on Barron's buttocks in several places showed a pinkness noticeably deeper than normal. Firmly Pete planted his left palm on the small of Barron's back as, with the right hand he raised the well-gripped strap.

The instrument descended. With a loud crack it landed across the fleshiest part of Barron's buttocks. A high, wretched wail rang out as Barron voiced his agony. Although Barron knew better than to jump around on his father's lap, still the tormented cheeks convulsively clenched and unclenched four times before the boy lay absolutely still again. Then the strap struck again. and again Barron wailed, louder now. Again the desperate clenching and unclenching.

Suddenly Pete looked directly at Eddie and advised him in an unnervingly calm, low voice:

"Boy, you'd better be ready just like Barron when your turn comes. And that's going to be in about one minute."

Eddie felt benumbed. He felt that there was now no chance of evading punishment. On the one hand he desperately wanted to ask the concession that he be allowed just to lower his jeans and jockey brief rather than remove his trousers altogether. On the other hand, that tone in Dr. Williamson's voice dissuaded him from raising any question about the issue. With resignation Eddie unfastened and lowered his jeans, slid the left cuff over the tennis shoe and off; he then repeated the procedure with the right leg. Just as Barron received the fifth lash of the strap, Eddie was standing pantless before Williamson.

Then one thought did go through the boy's mind with aching clarity;

"God, Barron, so this is what it's like. Well, buddy, I wouldn't tradefamilies with you in a million years or for a million dollars!"

Slowly Barron got to his feet, clutching his rear with both hands. His wail had dwindled to a soft moan by now, but tears continued to roll down his cheeks. When he raised his left hand to wipe his eyes, five red marks were clearly visible across his left buttock.

Now Eddie, realizing what was expected of him, lowered his own underpants in the rear. Somewhat to his surprise and relief, Williamson stood up and directed:

æJust bend over the side of the bed and kneel. Barron's my boy, but I'm not your pa, so we'll do it this way. Now, remember: you got five coming to you; don't try to pull up, away., or around, and don't scream. Otherwise you get more, understand?"

"Yessir," Eddie replied glumly....

Old Mrs. Crosby, who lived across the street from the Williamsons, frequently sat on her front porch during pleasant weather. There she rocked, knitted, or read, however she preferred to pass the time when her daily tasks were completed. She did not meddle in her neighbors' business, but she did take pleasure in sighting the people who lived about her, especially the children. By chance that evening she happened to observe Eddie Shelton upon both his arrival and his departure from the Williamson home. The contrast was striking indeed. Eddie had bounced up the steps like a puppy; now he was shuffling homeward dejected, like an old man.

"What could have happened?" she wondered. Then it occurred to her that probably nothing at all had happened; that perhaps Eddie had a perfectly splendid time playing with Barron and, like many children, regretted the inevitable moment when they are either called home by their parents or sent home by their host's parents.

Ah, had it only been so tonight! Instead, Eddie would remember for the rest of his life a singularly troubling and degrading experience. It wasn't just the whipping. His own parents, although rarely and certainly not recently, had spanked him on the bare bottom for serious incidences of willful misbehavior. But they were his parents. And they had punished him in private . Not only had he whipped Eddie in front of Barron, but Dr. Williamson hadn't even bothered to close the door to Barron's room at the time. So for any or all of that time, Barron's twerpy brothers or his teenage sister, or even his mother could have watched from the hall. And whatever they didn't see. God knows they heard, the way he and Barron had yelled while their tails were being skinned! Still, that wasn't the worst.

After the strap had finished burning his hind-cheeks, Eddie had been allowed to stand and quietly jump around a bit and rub out the most acute pain. As the physical ache gradually subsided, naturally the next concern that crossed Eddie's mind was his own modesty. Instinctively he began to think about pulling his pants on and up again. His fingertips, touching the waistband of his jockey shorts at the top of his thighs almost began tugging his underpants back up. Then his eyes, no longer blurred with tears, caught sight of Barron, who had been standing quietly for several minutes now. Why hadn't Barron pulled up his underpants yet? Then Eddie remembered about the rest of their punishment. And at that moment Phillip had appeared in the doorway to hand his father two clear plastic bags, which Pete had in turn handed to Barron and Eddie.

"Now, remember," he directed: "I want every single feather collected. Then you can pull up, but not before then."

And so, for some twenty minutes the two boys had scurried around Barron's room, sometimes standing, sometimes kneeling or sitting, sometimes prone on their stomachs, but always with their underpants still kept down in the rear. As one can well imagine, with two lively boys working frantically, most of the feathers were recovered within the first few minutes. Though this was the majority of the feathers, it also meant the most conspicuous feathers in the most accessible places, in other words, the easier work. Gathering up the fluff that had drifted under the bed or floated on to the tops of shelves and cabinets prolonged their work by a quarter of an .hour. Finally Williamson pronounced their work satisfactory.

Just before Eddie left, Pete had declared: "I do hope you boys learned a lesson tonight." He received no verbal response, nor was he expecting any. Eddie knew better than to utter aloud the reply that instantly came from his heart:

"Oh, yeah, Doc Williamson , I learned me a real important lesson. tonight. I learned that this house is one p[ace that I don't want to set my young self inside again--because Barron Williamson's father is crazy as a loon in a laundry!"