III
Despite adverse conditions, Wynne Rendall survived the perils of infancy. He was, however, a fragile child, susceptible to chills and fever, and ailments the flesh is heir to. In appearance he in no way resembled his brother or sister—healthy children both, with large appetites and stupid, expressionless faces. He had a broad brow, which overcast the slender lower portions of his face and accentuated the narrowness of his shoulders. His eyes were restless and very bright; they flickered inquiry at every object which passed before their focal plane. His attention was readily attracted to anything unusual even in his early pram days. On one occasion he saw a balloon floating over the houses at a low altitude, and his perambulator never passed the spot above which he had seen it, without his eyes lifting toward the skies in anxious search. Wynne’s nurse was a conscientious little being, and took a fierce pride in the prowess of her charge.
“The way ’e notices, you know. Never forgets so much as anything,” she would confide to other nurses as they pursued their way toward the gardens. “Knows ’is own mind, ’e does, and isn’t afraid to let you know it, either.”
Certainly Wynne held ideas regarding the proper conduct of babies and did not hesitate to raise his voice in displeasure when occasion demanded. In this, however, he showed a logical disposition, for he never cried for the sake of crying. Of toys he very soon tired, and signified lack of interest by throwing them from his pram at moments when his actions were unobserved. As a rule he showed some enthusiasm with the arrival of a new toy, and cherished it dearly for two or three days, but directly the novelty had worn off he lost no time in ridding himself of its society. If he were caught in the act, and the toy restored to him, he would cry very heartily, bite his hands, and kick his feet.
Unlike most children, his first adventures with talking did not consist in repetition of the words “mummie” and “daddy.” The nurse did her best to persuade him, but he was obdurate, and declined to accept the view that they should take precedence in forming a vocabulary. Trees, sky and water he articulated, almost perfectly, before bothering about nouns defining mere mortals.
IV
At the age of four and a half he was sent to a kindergarten, where he found many things to wonder about. He spent a year or more wondering. He wondered about the ribbons that tied little girls’ hair, and why hair need be tied, since it was pleasanter to look upon in riot. He wondered why the lady who kept the school had a chain to her eye-glasses, since they gripped her nose so securely that the danger of their falling off was negligible. He wondered why A was A, and not for example S, and would not accept it as being so without a reason being furnished. Also he wondered why he should be set tasks involving the plaiting of coloured strips of paper, which were tiresome to perform and unsightly when finished.
“Why need I?” he asked petulantly. “Grown-ups don’t. They are ugly and silly.”
“You mustn’t say that, Wynne,” reproved the mistress. “Besides it isn’t true. Doesn’t your mother do pretty embroidery? I am sure she does.”
The logic of the reply pleased him, but it also set him speculating why his mother devoted her time to such profitless employment. The designs she worked were stereotyped and geometrical. It seemed impossible any one could wish to be associated with such productions, and yet, when he came to reflect upon the matter, he realized that most of her time was spent stitching at them.