other boy followed him.

The girl started to run, and then she looked at Eric's mother again and
stopped. She looked back at Eric. "I'm sorry," she said sulkily, and
then she turned and fled after the others.

Eric's mother picked him up. "It's all right," she said. "Mother's here.
It's all right."

He clung to her, clutching her convulsively, his whole body shaking.
"Why, Mama? Why?"

"You're all right, dear."

She was warm and her arms were tight around him. He was home again, and
safe. He relaxed, slowly.

"Don't leave me, Mama."

"I won't, dear."

She crooned to him, softly, and he relaxed still more. His head drooped
on her shoulder and after a while he fell asleep.

But it wasn't the same as it had been. It wouldn't ever be quite the
same again. He knew he was different now.

* * * * *

That night Eric lay asleep. He was curled on his side, one chubby hand
under his cheek, the other still holding his favorite animal, the wooly
lamb his mother had given him for his birthday. He stirred in his sleep,
threshing restlessly, and whimpered.

His mother's face lifted mutely to her husband's.

"Myron, the things those children said. It must have been terrible for
him. I'm glad at least that he couldn't perceive what they were
thinking."

Myron sighed. He put his arm about her shoulders and drew her close
against him. "Don't torture yourself, Gwin. You can't make it easier for
him. There's no way."

"But we'll have to tell him something."

He stroked her hair. The four years of their shared sorrow lay heavily
between them as he looked down over her head at his son.

"Poor devil. Let him keep his childhood while he can, Gwin. He'll know
he's all alone soon enough."

She nodded, burying her face against his chest. "I know...."

Eric whimpered again, and his hands clenched into fists and came up to
protect his face.

Instinctively Gwin reached out to him, and then she drew back. She
couldn't reach his emotions. There was no perception. There was no way
she could enter his dreams and rearrange them and comfort him.

"Poor devil," his father said again. "He's got his whole life to be
lonely in."

* * * * *

The summer passed, and another winter and another summer. Eric spent
more and more time by himself. He liked to sit on the glassed-in
sunporch, bouncing his ball up and down and talking to it, aloud,
pretending that it answered him