Mr. Caxton draws a Martian bird

by Frank Belknap Long

"Much taller than you are, Mr. Caxton!" Susan said, quickly.

Mr. Caxton bent, and gripped Peter's arm. "I asked Peter," he said, shaking him. "Speak up, boy. Is there something wrong with your tongue?"

"It was big, Mr. Caxton," Tommy managed. "It had four toes. Two in front, and two in back."

"And a long, curving bill, I suppose."

"I don't know, Mr. Caxton."

"You've seen pictures of birds—Earth birds. Did you ever see a bird without a bill?"

"No, Mr. Caxton. But it was dark. It just stood in the door, and looked at me."

In the human mind deliberate, calculated cruelty can wear many masks. Its range is infinite, its devious twistings and turnings often subtle beyond belief.

Mr. Caxton could have slapped Peter's face, or so terrified him by shaking him that he would have thrown himself down, and given way to a wild, uncontrollable fit of sobbing.

But Mr. Caxton had a better, and far more sagacious idea. The boy fancies himself an explorer. Teach him a lesson he'll never forget. Prove to him that his knowledge of the natural sciences would disgrace a four-year-old—no, an infant in swaddling clothes.