For all his preoccupation with sports and other manly extroversions, Bertrand Baxter was not unimaginative. His stunning victory on this seventh night was too dramatic to ignore. He said not a word about it to Rolanda, but the following night he deliberately stayed wide awake until Annie sounded off. Instead of immediately flooding his infant daughter with the warm reassurance and pleading requests that she sleep, Baxter let his mind "feel" of the situation. He spoke softly to her in his unmouthed mind-talk, and for the first time he became aware of a tiny but positive mental response. There was a faint fringe of discomfort-thoughts--a weak hunger pang, a slight thirst, a clammy diaper. But mostly there was the cheerless darkness and a heavy feeling of aloneness, a love-want, an outreaching for assurance. As his thoughts went out he could sense that Annie _did_ receive them and take comfort from them--and the little physical hungers and discomforts faded from her mind. She felt reassured now, loved, petted, cosy and warm in the velvety gloom, in the restful quiet. He sensed the peace that settled through her, and the same peace flooded through him, a rare sensation of security, understanding and blind trust. Annie slept. Baxter slept. * * * * * And then it was Saturday morning. Baxter stayed abed, yielding the bathroom to his three teen-age daughters. Annie was still asleep, too, so Rolanda was stretching leisurely beside him like a long, pink cat. Noticing the time, she raised to an elbow and viewed him with some concern. "No golf this morning? Aren't you well, Bert?" Had he plunged out of bed to forage for his golf shoes as usual, she would have grumbled about how it must be Saturday, and she wished that _she_ had a whole morning off each week to _herself_. He replied slowly, "Later, maybe. Want to rest a little bit. Don't stare! I feel fine. Just thinking a little." She shrugged, put on her robe and entered the bathroom competition. Baxter lay waiting, eyes closed, concentrating. Then it came. The sensation of gentle awakening. Light--at first just a diffused pink light, then outlines forming: the ceiling fixture, the yellow-billed ducks on the pale pink wallpaper, the round bars of the crib. The sensation of movement, stretching, a glorious feeling of well-being. Annie was awake. Then in rapid succession, the sensation of wet diaper, cramped toe, hunger pang, _hunger pang_! Annie yelled. The sound came through firmly and demandingly, interrupting Baxter's concentration and breaking the remarkable rapport, but he had proved to himself beyond all doubt what he had been dubiously challenging: _He had established a clear, telepathic entry into his daughter's mind_. * * * * *