The psychologist cast an approving glance at her, and said reassuringly, “You shouldn’t be unduly alarmed. It’s important to remember that at Dicky’s age an occasional emotional explosion--laughter, tears, rage, or the like--isn’t necessarily a sign of dangerous emotional instability. After all,” he smiled faintly, “a hundred years ago your Dicky’s behavior would have been considered quite normal.” “Normal?” said the father with corrugated brow. “Ideas of normality differ in different eras. Our ancestors considered laughter--even violent laughter in public--quite permissible ... though they would have frowned on various other types of emotional exhibition. At sundry times and places there have been societies which condoned or even encouraged orgies of grief and guilt--megalomaniac outbursts, religious ecstasies, public sexual excesses. “Our own forebears continued to laugh right into the twentieth century, at a time when psychiatry had already taken its first great steps forward--steps hampered, naturally, by the cultural bias.... The popular psychology of the period even worked out a theory of the alleged value of ‘emotional outlets,’ disregarding, of course, the fact that energy going into such outlets was wasted. The steam that blows the whistle doesn’t turn the wheels.” The parents nodded with an understanding that pleased the psychologist. Maybe there was still hope for public education. “No doubt,” he went on, “some of those immature societies I referred to--when population was sparse and resources under-developed--could _afford_ their eccentricities. But modern civilization requires that all the individual’s inborn aggressive energy be channeled into effective action, directed by the reality principle. “Before we could accomplish that, we had to get rid of our forefathers’ sterile idea of ‘happiness,’ ideas which the early psychiatrists actually regarded as a therapeutic goal. They tried to alleviate human misery without realizing that it was only one face of the coin, and that to succeed they must also study the causes and cure of happiness! “So--” The psychologist caught himself with a glance at his watch, which had begun to buzz quietly but insistently to remind him of an appointment. “Don’t worry. You see, a century ago Dicky would have gone without treatment. Upon reaching the age of puberty, he might have fallen in love, or developed other psychosomatic ills--” The parents exchanged horrified glances. “But nowadays we know just what to do. You haven’t a thing to worry about.” He ushered them to the door beyond which Dicky waited with the nurse. * * * * * Fall was coming, a first chill in the air. Dicky stood at the edge of the green lawn, looking down the bare slope toward the fence and the brook beyond.