"What is a cheese-cutter?" I asked. "It is a bonnet with a big snout, something like a railway porter's. My father's a porter and he has ane." Evidently the man he is afraid of is his father. This may account for his lack of fear when he is walking from his home to the dairy. Then he is leaving his father; when he starts to return he is going back to his father and is afraid. I asked him about his fights with other boys. He always feared a fight but he went through with it so that the other boys should not call him a coward. Naturally he always lost the battle; he fought with a divided mind; while his less imaginative opponent thought only of hitting and winning, Geordie was picturing the end of the fight. I asked him if he had a sweetheart, and he blushed deeply. He told me that he often took fancies for girls, but they would not have him. Frank Murray always cut him out; Frank was a big hefty lad and the girls like the beefy manly boy. He does much day-dreaming, phantasying it is called in analysis. His dreams always take the form of conquests; in his day-dream he is the best fighter in the school, the best scholar, the most loved of the girls. His night dreams are often terrifying, and he has more than once dreamt that his father and Macdonald were dead. He finds compensation for his weaknesses in his day-dreams and his reading. He likes tales of heroes who always kill the villians and carry off the heroines. It is difficult to know what to do in a case like this. The best way would be to change the boy's environment, but that is out of the question. Even then the early fears would go with him; he would transfer his father-complex to another man. I tried to explain to Mac the condition of Geordie. The boy is all bottled up; his energy should be going into play and work, but instead it is regressing, going back to early ways of adaptation to environment. "But what can I do with him?" asked Mac. "Give him your love," I said. "He fears you now, and your attitude to him makes him worse. You must never punish him again, Mac." "That's all very well," said Mac ruefully, "but what am I to do? Suppose Tom Murray and he talk during a lesson, am I to whack Tom and allow Geordie to get off?" "Chuck punishment altogether," I said. "You don't need it; it is always the resort of a weak teacher." "I couldn't do without it," he said. "All right then," I said wearily, "but I want you to realise that your punishments are making Geordie a cripple for life." * * * * * I went down and had a talk with Geordie's father. He was not very pleasant about it; indeed he was almost unpleasant. "There's nothing wrong wi' the laddie," he said aggressively. "He's a wee bit lassie-like and he has no pluck." Here Geordie entered the kitchen, and his father turned on him harshly. "Started to yer lessons yet?" he demanded. Geordie muttered something about having had to feed his rabbits.