"Took most of the disagreeableness out of it, didn't it?" "Yes," Trigger admitted, "it did. Now what do we do?" "Now," said Pilch, "I'll explain." The thing that had caught their attention was a quite simple process. It just happened to be a process the Psychology Service hadn't observed under those particular circumstances before. "Here's what our investigators had the last time," Pilch said. "Lines and lines of stuff, of course. But here's a simple continuity which makes it clear. Your mother dies when you're six months old. Then there are a few nurses whom you don't like very much. Good nurses but frankly much too stupid for you, though you don't know that, and they don't either, naturally. Next, you're seven years old--a bit over--and there's a mud pond on the farm near Ceyce where you spend all your vacations. You just love that old mud pond." Trigger laughed. "A smelly old hole, actually! Full of froggy sorts of things. I went out to that farm six years ago, just to look around it again. But you're right. I did love that mud pond, once." "Right up to that seventh summer," Pilch said. "Which was the summer your father's cousin spent her vacation on the farm with you." Trigger nodded. "Perhaps. I don't remember the time too well." "Well," Pilch said, "she was a brilliant woman. In some ways. She was about the age your mother had been when she died. She was very good-looking. And she was _nice_! She played games with a little girl, sang to her. Told her stories. Cuddled her." Trigger blinked. "Did she? I don't--" "However," said Pilch, "she did not play games with, tell stories to, cuddle, etcetera, little girls who"--her voice went suddenly thin and edged--"_come in all filthy and smelling from that dirty, slimy old mud pond!_" Trigger looked startled. "You know," she said, "I do believe I remember her saying that--just that way!" "You remember it," said Pilch, "now. You never saw her again after that summer. Your father had good sense. He didn't marry her, as he apparently intended to do before he saw how she was going to be with you. You went back to your old mud pond just once more, on your next vacation. She wasn't there. What had you done? You waded around, feeling pretty sad. And you stepped on a sharp stick and cut your foot badly. Sort of a self-punishment." She flipped over a few pages of some record on her desk. "Now before you start asking what's interesting about that, I'll run over a few crossed-in items. Age twelve. There's that Maccadon animal like a dryland jellyfish--a mingo, isn't it?--that swallowed your kitten." "The mingo!" Trigger said. "I remember that. I killed it." "Right. You kicked it apart and pulled out the kitten, but the kitten was dead and partly digested. You bawled all day and half the night about that." "I might have, I suppose."