much could be
done by that wonderful system of training which modern science and
psychology combined have developed for the mentally deficient or idiot
child. For the impression left by the boy on the spectator was never that
of genuine idiocy. It was rather that of an imprisoned soul. The normal
soul seemed somehow to be there; but the barrier between it and the world
around it could not be broken through. By the specialist's advice,
Buntingford's next step was to appeal to a woman, one of those remarkable
women, who, unknown perhaps to more than local or professional fame, are
every year bringing the results of an ardent moral and mental research to
bear upon the practical tasks of parent and teacher. This woman, whom we
will call Mrs. Delane, combined the brain of a man of science with the
passion of motherhood. She had spent her life in the educational service
of a great municipality, varied by constant travel and investigation; and
she was now pensioned and retired. But all over England those who needed
her still appealed to her; and she failed no one. She came down to see
his son at Buntingford's request, and spent some days in watching the
child, with Cynthia as an eager learner beside her.

The problem was a rare one. The boy was a deaf-mute, but not blind. His
very beautiful eyes--; his father's eyes--seemed to be perpetually
interrogating the world about him, and perpetually baffled. He cried--a
monotonous wailing sound--but he never smiled. He was capable of throwing
all his small possessions into a large basket, and of taking them out
again; an operation which he performed endlessly hour after hour; but of
purpose, or any action that showed it, he seemed incapable. He could not
place one brick upon another, or slip one Japanese box inside its fellow.
His temper seemed to be always gentle; and in simple matters of daily
conduct and habit Zelie had her own ways of getting from him an automatic
obedience. But he heard nothing; and in his pathetic look, however
clearly his eyes might seem to be meeting those of a companion, there was
no answering intelligence.

Mrs. Delane set patiently to work, trying this, and testing that; and at
the end of the first week, she and Cynthia were sitting on the floor
beside the boy, who had a heap of bricks before him. For more than an
hour Mrs. Delane had been guiding his thin fingers in making a tower of
bricks one upon another, and then knocking them down. Then, at one
mome