{"id":69,"date":"2021-07-05T11:48:15","date_gmt":"2021-07-05T15:48:15","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.ryerson.ca\/thebookofsmall\/?post_type=chapter&p=69"},"modified":"2022-02-02T10:15:13","modified_gmt":"2022-02-02T15:15:13","slug":"the-praying-chair","status":"publish","type":"chapter","link":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/thebookofsmall\/chapter\/the-praying-chair\/","title":{"raw":"The Praying Chair","rendered":"The Praying Chair"},"content":{"raw":"The wicker chair was new and had a crisp creak. At a quarter to eight every morning Father sat in it to read family prayers. The little book the prayers came out of was sewed into a black calico pinafore because its own cover was a vivid colour and Father did not think that was reverent.\r\n\r\nThe Elder, a sister much older than the rest of the children, knelt before a hard, straight chair; Mother and little Dick knelt together at a low soft chair. The three little girls, Bigger, Middle, and Small usually knelt in the bay window and buried their faces in its cushioned seat but Small\u2019s Father liked her to kneel beside him sometimes. If she did not get her face down quickly he beckoned and Small had to go from the window-seat to under the arm of the wicker chair. It was stuffy under there. Small liked the window-seat best, where she could peep and count how many morning-glories were out, how many new rosebuds climbing to look in through the window at her.\r\n\r\nFather\u2019s wicker chair helped pray. It creaked and whispered more than the children would ever have dared to. When finally Father leaned across the arm to reach for the cross-work book-mark he had laid on the table during prayers, the chair squawked a perfectly grand Amen.\r\n\r\nOne morning Father had a bit of gout and Small thought that instead of Amen Father said \u201cOuch!\u201d She could not be quite sure because just at the very moment that the chair amened, Tibby, the cat, gave a tremendous \u201cmeow\u201d and a splendid idea popped into Small\u2019s head.\r\n\r\nSmall had wanted a dog\u2014she did not remember how long she had wanted it\u2014it must have been from the beginning of the world. The bigger she got the harder she wanted.\r\n\r\nAs soon as everyone had gone about their day\u2019s business Small took Tibby and went back to the praying chair.\r\n\r\n\u201cLook, Tibby, let\u2019s you and me and the praying chair ask God to give you a puppy for me. Hens get ducks, why couldn\u2019t you get a puppy? Father always sits in that chair to pray. It must be a good chair; it amens splendidly. I\u2019ll do the words: you and the chair can amen. I don\u2019t mind what kind of a puppy it is as long as it\u2019s alive.\u201d\r\n\r\nShe tipped the chair and poked Tibby underneath into the cage-like base. Tibby left her tail out.\r\n\r\n\u201cSo much the better,\u201d said Small. \u201cIt\u2019ll pinch when the time for amen is ready.\u201d\r\n\r\nTibby\u2019s amen was so effective that Small\u2019s Mother came to see what was the trouble.\r\n\r\n\u201cPoor cat! Her tail is pinched. Take her out into the garden, Small.\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cIt\u2019s all spoilt now!\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cWhat is?\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cWe were praying for a puppy.\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cYour father won\u2019t hear of a puppy in his garden, Small.\u201d\r\n\r\nSmall\u2019s birthday was coming.\r\n\r\nThe Elder said, \u201cI know something that is coming for your birthday!\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cIs it\u2014is it\u2014\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cWait and see.\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cDoes it commence with \u2018d\u2019? Or, if it\u2019s just a little one, maybe with \u2018p\u2019?\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cI think it does.\u201d\r\n\r\nThe day before the great day Small\u2019s singing was a greater nuisance than usual. Everyone scolded \u2019til she danced off to the woodshed to sing there, selected three boxes of varying sizes and brushed them out.\r\n\r\n\u201cWhich size will fit him? Middle, when you got your new hair-brush what did you do with the old one?\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cThrew it out.\u201d\r\n\r\nSmall searched the rubbish pile which was waiting for the Spring bonfire and found the brush-back with its few remaining bristles.\r\n\r\n\u201cA lot of brushing with a few is as good as a little brushing with a lot . . .\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cRosie,\u201d she said to the wax doll whose face had melted smooth because a mother, careless of dead dolls, had left her sitting in the sun, \u201cRosie, I shall give your woollie to my new pup. You are all cold anyhow. You melt if you are warmed. Pups are live and shivery . . .\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cHe . . . she . . . Oh, Rosie, what shall<\/em> I do if it\u2019s a she? It took years to think up a good enough name and it\u2019s a boy\u2019s name. Oh, well, if it\u2019s a girl she\u2019ll have thousands of puppies; the Elder says they always do.\u201d\r\n\r\nShe plaited a collar of bright braid, sewing on three hooks and eyes at varying distances.\r\n\r\n\u201cWill he be so big\u2014or so big\u2014or so big? I don\u2019t care about his size or shape or colour as long as he\u2019s alive.\u201d\r\n\r\nShe put the collar into the pocket of tomorrow\u2019s clean pinafore.\r\n\r\n\u201cHurry up and go, day, so that tomorrow can come!\u201d And she went off to bed so as to hurry night.\r\n\r\nSmall\u2019s father drew back the front-door bolt; that only half unlocked the new day\u2014the little prayerbook in its drab covering did the rest. It seemed a terrible time before the chair arm squeaked Amen. The Elder rose, slow as a snail. Small wanted to shout, \u201cHurry, hurry! Get the pup for me!\u201d\r\n\r\nEveryone kissed Small for her birthday; then all went into the breakfast-room. On Small\u2019s plate was a flat, flat parcel. Small\u2019s eyes filled, drowning the gladness.\r\n\r\n\u201cOpen it!\u201d shouted everyone.\r\n\r\nThe Elder cut the string. \u201cI am glad to see,\u201d she remarked, noting Small\u2019s quivering blue hands, \u201cthat you did not shirk your cold bath because it was your birthday.\u201d\r\n\r\nThe present was the picture of a little girl holding a dog in her arms.\r\n\r\n\u201cShe looks like you,\u201d said Middle.\r\n\r\n\u201cNo, she isn\u2019t like me, she has a dog.\u201d\r\n\r\nSmall went to the fire pretending to warm her blue hands. She took something from her apron pocket, dropped it into the flames.\r\n\r\n\u201cI\u2019m not hungry\u2014can I go and feed my ducks?\u201d In the cow-yard she could cry.\r\n\r\nThe birthday dawdled. Small went to bed early that night too.\r\n\r\n\u201cSmall, you forgot your prayers!\u201d cried Bigger.\r\n\r\n\u201cI didn\u2019t\u2014God\u2019s deaf.\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cYou\u2019re dreadfully, dreadfully wicked\u2014maybe you\u2019ll die in the night.\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cDon\u2019t care.\u201d\r\n\r\nYears passed. Small\u2019s father and mother were dead. The Elder was no more reasonable than Small\u2019s father had been about dogs. Small never asked now, but the want was still there, grown larger. Bigger, Middle and Small were grown up, but the Elder still regarded them as children, allowed them no rights. Like every girl Small built castles in the air. Her castle was an ark, her man a Noah, she tended the beasts.\r\n\r\nUnexpected as Amen in a sermon\u2019s middle came Small\u2019s dog. She had been away for a long, long time; on her return the Elder was softened. Wanting to keep Small home, she said, \u201cThere\u2019s a dog in the yard for you.\u201d\r\n\r\nDabbing a kiss on the Elder\u2019s cheek Small rushed. Kneeling she took the dog\u2019s muzzle between her hands. He sniffed, licked, accepted. Maybe he too had waited for a human peculiarly his. She loosed him. He circled round and round. Was he scenting the dream-pup jealously?\r\n\r\nHe had been named already. The dream-pup would always keep the name that had been his for his own.\r\n\r\n\u201cHe\u2019ll run away\u2014chain him. Remember he must not come in the house Small!\u201d\r\n\r\nSmall roamed beach and woods, the dog with her always. Owning him was better even than she had dreamed.\r\n\r\nSmall sat on a park bench waiting for a pupil, the dog asleep at her feet. The child-pupil, planning a surprise for Small, stole up behind her and threw her arms round her neck. Small screamed. The dog sprang, caught the child\u2019s arm between his teeth, made two tiny bruises and dropped down\u2014shamed.\r\n\r\n\u201cThat dog is vicious,\u201d said the Elder.\r\n\r\n\u201cOh, no, he thought someone was hurting me; he was dreadfully ashamed when he saw that it was a child.\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cHe must be kept chained.\u201d\r\n\r\nChickens for table use were killed close to the dog\u2019s kennel. He smelled the blood\u2014heard their squawks. The maid took a long feather and tickled his nose with it. He sprang, caught the girl\u2019s hand instead of the feather. The Elder\u2019s mouth went hard and grim.\r\n\r\n\u201cI teased him beyond endurance,\u201d pleaded the maid.\r\n\r\nThat day Small was hurt in an accident. The dog was not allowed to go to her room. Broken-hearted he lay in his kennel, disgraced, forsaken. Small was sent away to an old friend to recuperate. The day before she was to return, the old lady\u2019s son came to Small blurting, \u201cThey\u2019ve killed your dog.\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cCruel, unjust, beastly!\u201d shrieked Small.\r\n\r\n\u201cHush!\u201d commanded the old lady. \u201cThe dog was vicious.\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cHe was not! He was not! Both times he was provoked!\u201d\r\n\r\nSmall ran and ran across fields till she dropped face down among the standing grain. There was a dark patch on the earth where her tears fell among roots of the grain.\r\n\r\n\u201cOnly a dog! This is wrong, Small,\u201d said the not-understanding old woman.\r\n\r\nSmall went home and for six weeks spoke no word to the Elder\u2014very few to anybody. She loathed the Elder\u2019s hands; they made her sick. Finally the Elder lost patience. \u201cI did not kill the vicious brute,\u201d she cried. \u201cThe police shot him.\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cYou made them!\u201d\r\n\r\nSmall could look at the Elder\u2019s hands again.\r\n\r\nSmall was middle-aged; she built a house. The Elder had offered her another dog. \u201cNever till I have a home of my own,\u201d she had said. The Elder shrugged.\r\n\r\nNow that Small had her house, the Elder criticized it. \u201cToo far forward,\u201d she said. \u201cYou could have a nice front garden.\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cI wanted a large back yard.\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cA glut of dogs, eh Small?\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cA kennel of Bobtail Sheep dogs.\u201d\r\n\r\nThe Elder poked a head, white now, into Small\u2019s puppy nursery. \u201cWhat are you doing, Small?\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cBottling puppies\u2014too many for the mothers.\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cWhy not bucket them?\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cThere is demand for them\u2014sheep dogs\u2014cattle dogs.\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cHow many pups just now?\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cEve\u2019s eight, Rhoda\u2019s seven, Loo\u2019s nine.\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cTwenty-four\u2014mercy! and, besides, those absurd bearded old patriarchs\u2014Moses, Adam and the rest.\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cOpen the door for Adam.\u201d\r\n\r\nThe kennel sire entered, shaggy, noble, majestic. He rested his chin a moment on Small\u2019s shoulder where she sat with pup and feeding bottle, ran his eye round the walls where his mates and their families cuddled in boxes. He embraced all in good fellowship, including the Elder, picked the sunniest spot on the nursery floor and sprawled out.\r\n\r\n\u201cOh, Small, I was throwing out Father\u2019s old wicker chair. Would you like it in the kennel nursery to sit in while bottling the pups?\u201d\r\n\r\n\u201cThe praying chair?\u2014Oh, yes.\u201d\r\n\r\nSo the Praying Chair came to Small\u2019s kennel. Sitting in it Small remembered Tibby, the picture pup, the want, her first dog. Adam rested his chin on the old chair\u2019s arm. Small leaned forward to rest her cheek against his woolly head. All rasp, all crispness gone, \u201cAmen\u201d, whispered the Praying Chair.","rendered":"

The wicker chair was new and had a crisp creak. At a quarter to eight every morning Father sat in it to read family prayers. The little book the prayers came out of was sewed into a black calico pinafore because its own cover was a vivid colour and Father did not think that was reverent.<\/p>\n

The Elder, a sister much older than the rest of the children, knelt before a hard, straight chair; Mother and little Dick knelt together at a low soft chair. The three little girls, Bigger, Middle, and Small usually knelt in the bay window and buried their faces in its cushioned seat but Small\u2019s Father liked her to kneel beside him sometimes. If she did not get her face down quickly he beckoned and Small had to go from the window-seat to under the arm of the wicker chair. It was stuffy under there. Small liked the window-seat best, where she could peep and count how many morning-glories were out, how many new rosebuds climbing to look in through the window at her.<\/p>\n

Father\u2019s wicker chair helped pray. It creaked and whispered more than the children would ever have dared to. When finally Father leaned across the arm to reach for the cross-work book-mark he had laid on the table during prayers, the chair squawked a perfectly grand Amen.<\/p>\n

One morning Father had a bit of gout and Small thought that instead of Amen Father said \u201cOuch!\u201d She could not be quite sure because just at the very moment that the chair amened, Tibby, the cat, gave a tremendous \u201cmeow\u201d and a splendid idea popped into Small\u2019s head.<\/p>\n

Small had wanted a dog\u2014she did not remember how long she had wanted it\u2014it must have been from the beginning of the world. The bigger she got the harder she wanted.<\/p>\n

As soon as everyone had gone about their day\u2019s business Small took Tibby and went back to the praying chair.<\/p>\n

\u201cLook, Tibby, let\u2019s you and me and the praying chair ask God to give you a puppy for me. Hens get ducks, why couldn\u2019t you get a puppy? Father always sits in that chair to pray. It must be a good chair; it amens splendidly. I\u2019ll do the words: you and the chair can amen. I don\u2019t mind what kind of a puppy it is as long as it\u2019s alive.\u201d<\/p>\n

She tipped the chair and poked Tibby underneath into the cage-like base. Tibby left her tail out.<\/p>\n

\u201cSo much the better,\u201d said Small. \u201cIt\u2019ll pinch when the time for amen is ready.\u201d<\/p>\n

Tibby\u2019s amen was so effective that Small\u2019s Mother came to see what was the trouble.<\/p>\n

\u201cPoor cat! Her tail is pinched. Take her out into the garden, Small.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s all spoilt now!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat is?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWe were praying for a puppy.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYour father won\u2019t hear of a puppy in his garden, Small.\u201d<\/p>\n

Small\u2019s birthday was coming.<\/p>\n

The Elder said, \u201cI know something that is coming for your birthday!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIs it\u2014is it\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWait and see.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDoes it commence with \u2018d\u2019? Or, if it\u2019s just a little one, maybe with \u2018p\u2019?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI think it does.\u201d<\/p>\n

The day before the great day Small\u2019s singing was a greater nuisance than usual. Everyone scolded \u2019til she danced off to the woodshed to sing there, selected three boxes of varying sizes and brushed them out.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhich size will fit him? Middle, when you got your new hair-brush what did you do with the old one?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThrew it out.\u201d<\/p>\n

Small searched the rubbish pile which was waiting for the Spring bonfire and found the brush-back with its few remaining bristles.<\/p>\n

\u201cA lot of brushing with a few is as good as a little brushing with a lot . . .\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cRosie,\u201d she said to the wax doll whose face had melted smooth because a mother, careless of dead dolls, had left her sitting in the sun, \u201cRosie, I shall give your woollie to my new pup. You are all cold anyhow. You melt if you are warmed. Pups are live and shivery . . .\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHe . . . she . . . Oh, Rosie, what shall<\/em> I do if it\u2019s a she? It took years to think up a good enough name and it\u2019s a boy\u2019s name. Oh, well, if it\u2019s a girl she\u2019ll have thousands of puppies; the Elder says they always do.\u201d<\/p>\n

She plaited a collar of bright braid, sewing on three hooks and eyes at varying distances.<\/p>\n

\u201cWill he be so big\u2014or so big\u2014or so big? I don\u2019t care about his size or shape or colour as long as he\u2019s alive.\u201d<\/p>\n

She put the collar into the pocket of tomorrow\u2019s clean pinafore.<\/p>\n

\u201cHurry up and go, day, so that tomorrow can come!\u201d And she went off to bed so as to hurry night.<\/p>\n

Small\u2019s father drew back the front-door bolt; that only half unlocked the new day\u2014the little prayerbook in its drab covering did the rest. It seemed a terrible time before the chair arm squeaked Amen. The Elder rose, slow as a snail. Small wanted to shout, \u201cHurry, hurry! Get the pup for me!\u201d<\/p>\n

Everyone kissed Small for her birthday; then all went into the breakfast-room. On Small\u2019s plate was a flat, flat parcel. Small\u2019s eyes filled, drowning the gladness.<\/p>\n

\u201cOpen it!\u201d shouted everyone.<\/p>\n

The Elder cut the string. \u201cI am glad to see,\u201d she remarked, noting Small\u2019s quivering blue hands, \u201cthat you did not shirk your cold bath because it was your birthday.\u201d<\/p>\n

The present was the picture of a little girl holding a dog in her arms.<\/p>\n

\u201cShe looks like you,\u201d said Middle.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, she isn\u2019t like me, she has a dog.\u201d<\/p>\n

Small went to the fire pretending to warm her blue hands. She took something from her apron pocket, dropped it into the flames.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m not hungry\u2014can I go and feed my ducks?\u201d In the cow-yard she could cry.<\/p>\n

The birthday dawdled. Small went to bed early that night too.<\/p>\n

\u201cSmall, you forgot your prayers!\u201d cried Bigger.<\/p>\n

\u201cI didn\u2019t\u2014God\u2019s deaf.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re dreadfully, dreadfully wicked\u2014maybe you\u2019ll die in the night.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDon\u2019t care.\u201d<\/p>\n

Years passed. Small\u2019s father and mother were dead. The Elder was no more reasonable than Small\u2019s father had been about dogs. Small never asked now, but the want was still there, grown larger. Bigger, Middle and Small were grown up, but the Elder still regarded them as children, allowed them no rights. Like every girl Small built castles in the air. Her castle was an ark, her man a Noah, she tended the beasts.<\/p>\n

Unexpected as Amen in a sermon\u2019s middle came Small\u2019s dog. She had been away for a long, long time; on her return the Elder was softened. Wanting to keep Small home, she said, \u201cThere\u2019s a dog in the yard for you.\u201d<\/p>\n

Dabbing a kiss on the Elder\u2019s cheek Small rushed. Kneeling she took the dog\u2019s muzzle between her hands. He sniffed, licked, accepted. Maybe he too had waited for a human peculiarly his. She loosed him. He circled round and round. Was he scenting the dream-pup jealously?<\/p>\n

He had been named already. The dream-pup would always keep the name that had been his for his own.<\/p>\n

\u201cHe\u2019ll run away\u2014chain him. Remember he must not come in the house Small!\u201d<\/p>\n

Small roamed beach and woods, the dog with her always. Owning him was better even than she had dreamed.<\/p>\n

Small sat on a park bench waiting for a pupil, the dog asleep at her feet. The child-pupil, planning a surprise for Small, stole up behind her and threw her arms round her neck. Small screamed. The dog sprang, caught the child\u2019s arm between his teeth, made two tiny bruises and dropped down\u2014shamed.<\/p>\n

\u201cThat dog is vicious,\u201d said the Elder.<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, no, he thought someone was hurting me; he was dreadfully ashamed when he saw that it was a child.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHe must be kept chained.\u201d<\/p>\n

Chickens for table use were killed close to the dog\u2019s kennel. He smelled the blood\u2014heard their squawks. The maid took a long feather and tickled his nose with it. He sprang, caught the girl\u2019s hand instead of the feather. The Elder\u2019s mouth went hard and grim.<\/p>\n

\u201cI teased him beyond endurance,\u201d pleaded the maid.<\/p>\n

That day Small was hurt in an accident. The dog was not allowed to go to her room. Broken-hearted he lay in his kennel, disgraced, forsaken. Small was sent away to an old friend to recuperate. The day before she was to return, the old lady\u2019s son came to Small blurting, \u201cThey\u2019ve killed your dog.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cCruel, unjust, beastly!\u201d shrieked Small.<\/p>\n

\u201cHush!\u201d commanded the old lady. \u201cThe dog was vicious.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHe was not! He was not! Both times he was provoked!\u201d<\/p>\n

Small ran and ran across fields till she dropped face down among the standing grain. There was a dark patch on the earth where her tears fell among roots of the grain.<\/p>\n

\u201cOnly a dog! This is wrong, Small,\u201d said the not-understanding old woman.<\/p>\n

Small went home and for six weeks spoke no word to the Elder\u2014very few to anybody. She loathed the Elder\u2019s hands; they made her sick. Finally the Elder lost patience. \u201cI did not kill the vicious brute,\u201d she cried. \u201cThe police shot him.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou made them!\u201d<\/p>\n

Small could look at the Elder\u2019s hands again.<\/p>\n

Small was middle-aged; she built a house. The Elder had offered her another dog. \u201cNever till I have a home of my own,\u201d she had said. The Elder shrugged.<\/p>\n

Now that Small had her house, the Elder criticized it. \u201cToo far forward,\u201d she said. \u201cYou could have a nice front garden.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI wanted a large back yard.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cA glut of dogs, eh Small?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cA kennel of Bobtail Sheep dogs.\u201d<\/p>\n

The Elder poked a head, white now, into Small\u2019s puppy nursery. \u201cWhat are you doing, Small?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBottling puppies\u2014too many for the mothers.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhy not bucket them?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThere is demand for them\u2014sheep dogs\u2014cattle dogs.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHow many pups just now?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cEve\u2019s eight, Rhoda\u2019s seven, Loo\u2019s nine.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cTwenty-four\u2014mercy! and, besides, those absurd bearded old patriarchs\u2014Moses, Adam and the rest.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOpen the door for Adam.\u201d<\/p>\n

The kennel sire entered, shaggy, noble, majestic. He rested his chin a moment on Small\u2019s shoulder where she sat with pup and feeding bottle, ran his eye round the walls where his mates and their families cuddled in boxes. He embraced all in good fellowship, including the Elder, picked the sunniest spot on the nursery floor and sprawled out.<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, Small, I was throwing out Father\u2019s old wicker chair. Would you like it in the kennel nursery to sit in while bottling the pups?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThe praying chair?\u2014Oh, yes.\u201d<\/p>\n

So the Praying Chair came to Small\u2019s kennel. Sitting in it Small remembered Tibby, the picture pup, the want, her first dog. Adam rested his chin on the old chair\u2019s arm. Small leaned forward to rest her cheek against his woolly head. All rasp, all crispness gone, \u201cAmen\u201d, whispered the Praying Chair.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":299,"menu_order":6,"template":"","meta":{"pb_show_title":"on","pb_short_title":"","pb_subtitle":"","pb_authors":[],"pb_section_license":""},"chapter-type":[48],"contributor":[],"license":[],"class_list":["post-69","chapter","type-chapter","status-publish","hentry","chapter-type-numberless"],"part":3,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/thebookofsmall\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapters\/69","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/thebookofsmall\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapters"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/thebookofsmall\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/chapter"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/thebookofsmall\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/299"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/thebookofsmall\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapters\/69\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":142,"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/thebookofsmall\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapters\/69\/revisions\/142"}],"part":[{"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/thebookofsmall\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/parts\/3"}],"metadata":[{"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/thebookofsmall\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapters\/69\/metadata\/"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/thebookofsmall\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=69"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"chapter-type","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/thebookofsmall\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapter-type?post=69"},{"taxonomy":"contributor","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/thebookofsmall\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/contributor?post=69"},{"taxonomy":"license","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/thebookofsmall\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/license?post=69"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}