MY ROBOT
By O. H. LESLIE
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Fantastic February 1957.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
How I wish Faw-Faw were here! What joy to be a child again, and sit once more in his strong wide lap, and rest my fevered cheek against the cool metal surface of his chest, and let my sticky, stumpy fingers play idly over the buttons of his back, and finally press down the one that brought forth his soothing, smoothing, story-telling voice:
"There was once a shoe-maker who through no fault of his own had become so poor that at last he had only leather enough for one pair of shoes...."
Oh, Faw-Faw! What have they done with you?
Memory, memory. So sweet, so painful. What was the rhyme that Father taught me? The rhyme that told me how Faw-Faw worked?