Books: ROMANCE

THE sun came out, a spring sun, primrose color; not yet too warm in the springtime park, not yet burnt out.

The nurse put down a rug and on the rug a baby of about a year old. Then she returned to a seat, well sheltered by some laurel bushes from the spring breeze, still cool, and opened a book. The baby lay on its back for some minutes, gazing with calm wonder at a sky like a forget-me-not with small thin clouds like puffs of frosty breath. No doubt it had forgotten the sky in the last few minutes and was interested to rediscover it. But at last it grew bored, and tried to roll over. To do this, it held its arms and legs as rigid as those of a Dutch doll and jerked them violently in the air. These exertions produced only a slight rocking movement in its perfectly round body, of which the pro portion to its limbs was about that of a tortoise. But the baby continued its struggles until, by accident, it kicked both legs and arms in the same direction, and toppled slowly over on to its face. It then began to crawl off the rug. The nurse, without taking her eyes off the book, said "Naughty." The baby, with one hand in the air, paused. Its attitude was that of Colleoni's majestic charger in Venice or George Ill's famous "copper horse" at Windsor, and it seemed to enjoy cutting a dash. When it had crawled another two quick steps, it ended in the same grand pose. The nurse made ready to turn a page and again cried "Naughty" with keenest indignation. She turned the page. Her eyes and sharp little nose were directed at the next sentence on the top of the new page even before she had turned it. "Naughty, come back at once." The baby, still in mid-prance, even curving one wrist in an affected manner which horse- sculptors could only envy, looked back over its shoulder at the nurse. Its face, rosy and polished, had no more expression than an apple. Then it crawled straight off the rug. The nurse looked up from her book and gave a shrill cry of anger. Two spots of red appeared in her white cheeks. But she still held the book open before her at reading level; she was hoping, with all her might, that something would save her from breaking off in the middle of this wonderful chapter.

HER hope was lucky. A small girl of about five, in blue linen trousers with cross-over braces behind and a bib in front, had just come to inspect the laurel bushes. She squatted down and peered into them, probably in search of a hidy-hole. Her expression was, however, disinterested, even bored. She seemed to be performing a duty rather than a pleasure. Now, hearing the cry of "naughty," she started up, looked round the corner of the bush and saw the baby. At once she started forward and, repeating "Naughty! naughty! naughty!" all the way in exactly the nurse's tone but with a rising pitch, caught the baby by the thighs and dragged it to the rug. She then retreated backwards, at first quickly, as from the too-near presence of a strange nurse, but then more and more slowly. Her eyes, fixed on the baby, expressed both desire and regret. The same expression can be seen on the faces of polite children who, at a birthday party, too quickly refuse a second slice of cake.