Robert White, Jr. 303 



sheer tommy-rot or mere guesswork. While it is 

 quite true that much has been learned, as more re- 

 mains to be learned, from close observation, it also 

 is true that even the most generously endowed of 

 our writers have not yet quite mastered the art of 

 turning themselves into winged or four-footed crea- 

 tures at will. Until they have fully mastered that 

 art, which may mean some slight delay, the average, 

 not especially gifted reader may be wise in liberally 

 salting his brain-foods. 



Our young Robert, possibly because he was an 

 exception to the general rule, did not at once enter 

 upon an arduous course of study like the brainy 

 birdlings that bloom in books. Instead, he just 

 toddled along with the crowd, dogging his mother's 

 steps until she paused and began to kick the dust 

 about with her feet. Naturally enough, there had 

 been no previous rehearsals of this interesting per- 

 formance, nor had it been at all discussed ; yet the 

 moment he saw her, as it were, " at the bat," he 

 elected himself " short stop," and prepared to play 

 an errorless game. When a few moments later a 

 spotless white object came trundling his way, he 

 gathered it in with a speed and accuracy worthy of 

 a pennant. It was an ant's egg. There were other 

 foods later on, and when he spied something new, he 

 didn't have to run to his mother and ask if the thing 

 was good to eat. His keen eyes merely flashed 

 upon it, decided its value, and he promptly pounced 

 upon or passed by as his curious instinct directed. 



For days the youngsters all had a royal time, for 

 life was one grand, sweet feed, sleep, and sun bath. 

 Like the others, Robert grew rapidly, and fairy fans 



