The three looked at him, not saying anything. Then they all burst out laughing. They pointed at him, jumped up and down and clapped their hands together. "What's funny?" Eric said, backing away from them, wishing his mother would come, and yet afraid to turn around and run. "You," the girl said. "You're funny. Funny, funny, funny! You're stu-pid." The others took it up. "Stu-pid, stu-pid. You can't talk to us, you're too stu-pid...." They skipped down the bank toward him, laughing and calling. They jumped up and down and pointed at him, crowded closer and closer. "Silly, silly. Can't talk. Silly, silly. Can't talk...." Eric backed away from them. He tried to run, but he couldn't. His knees shook too much. He could hardly move his legs at all. He began to cry. They crowded still closer around him. "Stu-pid." Their laughter was terrible. He couldn't get away from them. He cried louder. "Eric!" His mother's voice. He twisted around, saw her coming, running toward him along the bank. "Mama!" He could move again. He stumbled toward her. "He wants his mama," the big boy said. "Funny baby." His mother was looking past him, at the other children. They stopped laughing abruptly. They looked back at her for a moment, scuffing their feet in the dirt and not saying anything. Suddenly the big boy turned and ran, up over the bank and out of sight. The other boy followed him. The girl started to run, and then she looked at Eric's mother again and stopped. She looked back at Eric. "I'm sorry," she said sulkily, and then she turned and fled after the others. Eric's mother picked him up. "It's all right," she said. "Mother's here. It's all right." He clung to her, clutching her convulsively, his whole body shaking. "Why, Mama? Why?" "You're all right, dear." She was warm and her arms were tight around him. He was home again, and safe. He relaxed, slowly. "Don't leave me, Mama." "I won't, dear." She crooned to him, softly, and he relaxed still more. His head drooped on her shoulder and after a while he fell asleep. But it wasn't the same as it had been. It wouldn't ever be quite the same again. He knew he was different now. * * * * * That night Eric lay asleep. He was curled on his side, one chubby hand under his cheek, the other still holding his favorite animal, the wooly lamb his mother had given him for his birthday. He stirred in his sleep, threshing restlessly, and whimpered. His mother's face lifted mutely to her husband's. "Myron, the things those children said. It must have been terrible for him. I'm glad at least that he couldn't perceive what they were thinking." Myron sighed. He put his arm about her shoulders and drew her close against him. "Don't torture yourself, Gwin. You can't make it easier for him. There's no way." "But we'll have to tell him something." He stroked her hair. The four years of their shared sorrow lay heavily between them as he looked down over her head at his son.