THE SISYPHUS 



The ball and its rider, forming one mass, fall to the floor. 

 The mother, from above, looks down for a moment in 

 surprise, and then drops to recover the load and renew 

 her impossible attempt to scale the side. After repeated 

 falls the climb is abandoned. 



Even on level ground the carting is not carried on 

 without difficulty. At every moment the load swerves 

 on some mound made by a bit of gravel; and the team 

 topple over and kick about, upside down. This is a 

 trifle, the merest trifle. These tumbles, which so often 

 fling the Sisyphus on his back, cause him no concern ; one 

 would even think he liked them. After all, the ball has 

 to be hardened and made of the right consistency. And 

 this being the case, bumps falls, and jolts are all part of 

 the programme. This mad steeple-chasing goes on for 

 hours. 



At last the mother, regarding the work as completed, 

 goes off a little way in search of a suitable spot. The 

 father mounts guard, squatting on the treasure. If his 

 companion's absence be unduly long, he relieves his 

 boredom by spinning the ball nimbly between his up- 

 lifted hind legs. He treats his precious pellet as a 

 juggler treats his ball. He tests its perfect shape with 

 his curved legs, the branches of his compasses. No one 

 who sees him frisking in that jubilant attitude can doubt 

 his lively satisfaction — the satisfaction of a father as- 

 sured of his children's future. 



[205] 



