y were all gone, and only Mr. Fredericksohn remained in his
private office, behind the closed door, Gloria opened a drawer of her
desk and took out a piece of modeling clay a little bigger than her
fist. Working without haste, and never bothering to look up she made a
doll in the shape of a tall, thin boy.

The voodoo sects in Haiti used hair or fingernail parings from the
subject, Gloria knew; she had learned that in her college research, but
she had known about the doll long before. Hair and fingernail parings:
what superstition! And it wasn't as if you really needed the doll; if
necessary, you could get along very well without it. But it was a help;
it made things easier; and why not?

She tried to picture Tom Francis. His mother's description of him had
been pretty vague, but Gloria found she could locate him at his house;
she turned the doll until she had the feeling of contact, and then--

There.

It didn't take long, actually, not once you had your subject located.
Tom hadn't really been a hard case; his juvenile delinquency, Gloria was
quite sure, was a thing of the past. He'd be back in school as soon as
the details could be worked out between Mrs. Francis and the Board of
Education, and that would take care of that.

With a satisfied smile, she put the doll away in her drawer. She'd mash
it back into clay later in the afternoon; that would enable her to use
the same piece over and over again.

Clay cost money, and a case worker's salary wasn't large. Gloria could
not see how she could put the cost of the clay down on a special
requisition, anyhow; she had to pay for it herself, and so she was very
careful and saving with it.

After she'd put the Tom doll away with the Rudi doll, making a mental
note to take care of both of them before she left for the day, she
fished out her beret and put it on and went out for a quick lunch.

* * * * *

It was just after two o'clock when Mr. Gerne came in. The others were
used to his periodic arrivals, of course, and Gloria had never felt any
fear of the director. He didn't work in the same office, but elsewhere
in the building, and once a week he made a habit of touring the various
social-work agencies under his direction.

It kept the workers on their toes, Gloria imagined: the actual sight of
the boss' boss would do that. Mr. Gerne never smiled; he was a small,
thin-lipped man with white skin and very little hair. He stood in the