NAILS
                   by Eugene Hutchinson Mallory 2


     In 1920 when I was seven years old we packed up and moved
to the E.P. Andrews house. Father paid $13000 for it and thus
redeemed his promise to mother that the Parks house was just
temporary. She didn't think nine years was temporary enough, but
the new house was really fine.

     For me there was a flaw, I had forgotten to pack my cigar
box of nails. I probably forgot it because it was not really
legitimately mine.

     Father had had some work done on the old house before we
moved. He had seen that the carpenters had dropped some new
nails around and told me to pick those up and any more that they
dropped.

     I had a nice new cigar box. Father smoked in those days.
They didn't drop many and my nails didn't make much of a showing
in the box so I stole some from the keg and filled my box. They
were father's nails, but I didn't think that was what he
intended. I hid them in Dan's oat bin in the barn. Dan had been
retired to the farm and it seemed safe enough.

     The new house was so large it pretty well filled the lot
and I missed my old yard, my swing, my bird bath and the barn.
Then I remembered my box of nails. I had been firmly told that
new people were going to live in our old house. I was not to go
back there. It was only a block and father had only rented it
out and those were my nails.

     Back I went, but I couldn't find my nails. While I was
upset over that father appeared looking twice his regular size.
"What are you doing over here?"

     I was so startled that I said "I was looking for my nails."

     I immediately thought how dumb that was and now I had
really done it, but father was not interested in nails he just
wanted to deliver his lecture on minding what I was told.

     I was escorted home. I was more impressed by fathers
sneakiness in following me than the lecture, but I never went
back. My nails were gone.

     I never forgot the incident, but it was many many years
before I understood what a sinister theme had been set in motion
to shadow me the rest of my life. Paradise, guilt and relentless
exile enforced by my all knowing father even years after his
death.

     If I had been willing to go to Sunday school I might have
caught on sooner, but I didn't care for Sunday school so it took
me longer to realize what an old old story this was.