f mankind she did not at all distinguish from trees
walking. She was better able to conceive a smile than a face, but the
realization of either largely depended upon its association with the
handkerchief of "peep-bo."

Seventeen Hagworth Street was familiar, first of all, through the step
of the front door, which she invariably was commanded to beware. She did
not grasp its propinquity from the perambulator, for, when lifted out of
the latter and told to run in to mother, it was only the step which
assured her of the vast shadowy place of warmth and familiar smells in
which she spent most of her existence. Of the smells, the best
remembered in after-life was that of warm blankets before the kitchen
fire. Her only approach to an idea of property rested in the security of
a slice of bread and butter, which could be devoured slowly without
wakening Alfie's cupidity. On the other hand, when jam was added, the
slice must be gobbled, not from greediness, but for fear of losing it.
This applied also to the incidental booty of stray chocolates or paints.
Her notion of territory was confined to places where she could sit or
lie at ease. The patchwork hearthrug, which provided warmth, softness,
something to tug at, and, sometimes, pieces of coal to chew, was
probably her earliest conception of home, and perhaps her first
disillusionment was due to a volatile spark burning her cheek. Bed
struck her less as a prelude to the oblivion of sleep than as a spot
where she was not worried about sucking her thumb. Perhaps her first
emotion of mere sensuousness was the delicious anticipation of
thumb-sucking as Ruby O'Connor propelled her upstairs with the knee, a
sensuousness that was only very slightly ruffled by the thought of soap
and flannelette. Suspicion was born when once she was given a spoonful
of jam, whose melting sweetness disclosed a clammy sediment of gray
powder, so that ever afterwards the offer of a spoon meant kicks and
yells, dribbles and clenched resistance. Her first deception lay in
pretending to be asleep when she was actually awake, as animals
counterfeit death to avoid disturbance. Whether, however, she had any
idea of being what she was not, is unlikely, as she did not yet possess
a notion of being. Probably "peep-bo," when first practiced by herself,
helped to formulate an embryonic egotism.

The birth of light on summer mornings kindled a sense of wonder when she
realized that light did not depend on human agen