She looked at me impishly. "You're already learning it a little. But you're so slow! You see, you didn't even know you were learning." Her voice took on a wistful note, a tone of loneliness. "I wish--" she said, and paused. "What do you wish?" "You see what I mean, Daddy? You try, but you're so slow." All the same, I knew. I knew she was already longing for a companion whose mind could match her own. A father is prepared to lose his daughter eventually, Star, but not so soon. Not so soon.... * * * * * _June again_ Some new people have moved in next door. Star says their name is Howell. Bill and Ruth Howell. They have a son, Robert, who looks maybe a year older than Star, who will soon be five. Star seems to have taken up with Robert right away. He is a well-mannered boy and good company for Star. I'm worried, though. Star had something to do with their moving in next door. I'm convinced of that. I'm also convinced, even from the little I've seen of him, that Robert is a Bright and a telepath. Could it be that, failing to find quick accord with my mind, Star has reached out and out until she made contact with a telepath companion? No, that's too fantastic. Even if it were so, how could she shape circumstances so she could bring Robert to live next door to her? The Howells came from another city. It just happened that the people who lived next door moved out and the house was put up for sale. Just happened? How frequently do we find such abnormal Brights? What are the chances of one _just happening_ to move in next door to another? I know he is a telepath because, as I write this, I sense him reading it. I even catch his thought: "Oh, pardon me, Mr. Holmes. I didn't intend to peek. Really I didn't." Did I imagine that? Or is Star building a skill in my mind? "It isn't nice to look into another person's mind unless you're asked, Robert," I thought back, rather severely. It was purely an experiment. "I know it, Mr. Holmes. I apologize." He is in his bed in his house, across the driveway. "No, Daddy, he really didn't mean to." And Star is in her bed in this house. It is impossible to write how I feel. There comes a time when words are empty husks. But mixed with my expectant dread is a thread of gratitude for having been taught to be even stumblingly telepathic. * * * * * _Saturday--August 11th_ I've thought of a gag. I haven't seen Jim Pietre in a month of Sundays, not since he was awarded that research fellowship with the museum. It will be good to pull him out of his hole, and this little piece of advertising junk Star dropped should be just the thing. Strange about the gadget. The Awful Secret Talisman of the Mystic Junior G-Men, no doubt. Still, it doesn't have anything about crackles and pops printed on it. Merely an odd-looking coin, not even true round, bronze by the look of it. Crude. They must stamp them out by the million without ever changing a die.