over his forehead. He was obviously trying hard to pretend he
wasn't in the room at all.

* * * * *

Jonathan said, "Now, son, that is not a good answer. What were you
doing when the ball went through the window?"

"Watching," said Richie truthfully.

"How did it _go_ through the window?"

"Real fast."

Jonathan found his teeth were clamped. No wonder he couldn't decode
Easton's speech--he couldn't even talk with his own son!

"I mean," he explained, his patience wavering, "you threw the ball so
that it broke the window, didn't you?"

"I didn't mean it to," said Richie.

"All right. That's what I wanted to know." He started on a lecture
about respect for other people's property, while Richie sat and looked
blankly respectful. "And so," he heard himself conclude, "I hope we'll
be more careful in the future."

"Yes," said Richie.

A vague memory came to Jonathan and he sat and studied his son,
remembering him when he was younger and first starting to talk. He
recalled the time Richie, age three, had come bustling up to him.
"Vransh!" the child had pleaded, tugging at his father's hand.
Jonathan had gone outside with him to see a baby bird which had fallen
from its nest. "Vransh!" Richie had crowed, exhibiting his find.
"Vransh!"

"Do I get my spanking now?" asked Richie from the chair. His eyes
were wide and watchful.

Jonathan tore his mind from still another recollection: the old joke
about the man and woman who adopted a day-old French infant and then
studied French so they would be able to understand their child when he
began to talk. Maybe, thought Jonathan, it's no joke. Maybe there _is_
a language--

"Spanking?" he repeated absentmindedly. He took a fresh pencil and pad
of paper. "How would you like to help with something, Richie?"

The blue eyes watched carefully. "Before you spank me or after?"

"No spanking." Jonathan glanced at the Easton notes, vaguely aware
that Richie had suddenly relaxed. "What I'm going to do," he went on,
"is say some words. It'll be a kind of game. I'll say a word and then
you say a word. You say the first word you think after you hear my
word. Okay?" He cleared his throat. "Okay! The first word is--house."

"_My_ house."

"Bird," said Jonathan.

"Uh--tree." Richie scratched his nose and stifled a yawn.

* * * * *

Disappointed, Jonathan reminded himself that Richie at six could not
be expected to