ROMANCE

THE sun came out, a spring sun, primrose color; not yet too warm in the springtime park, not yet burnt out.

The nurse put down a rug and on the rug a baby of about a year old. Then she returned to a seat, well sheltered by some laurel bushes from the spring breeze, still cool, and opened a book. The baby lay on its back for some minutes, gazing with calm wonder at a sky like a forget-me-not with small thin clouds like puffs of frosty breath. No doubt it had forgotten the sky in the last few minutes and was interested to rediscover it. But at last it grew bored, and tried to roll over. To do this, it held its arms and legs as rigid as those of a Dutch doll and jerked them violently in the air. These exertions produced only a slight rocking movement in its perfectly round body, of which the pro portion to its limbs was about that of a tortoise. But the baby continued its struggles until, by accident, it kicked both legs and arms in the same direction, and toppled slowly over on to its face. It then began to crawl off the rug. The nurse, without taking her eyes off the book, said "Naughty." The baby, with one hand in the air, paused. Its attitude was that of Colleoni's majestic charger in Venice or George Ill's famous "copper horse" at Windsor, and it seemed to enjoy cutting a dash. When it had crawled another two quick steps, it ended in the same grand pose. The nurse made ready to turn a page and again cried "Naughty" with keenest indignation. She turned the page. Her eyes and sharp little nose were directed at the next sentence on the top of the new page even before she had turned it. "Naughty, come back at once." The baby, still in mid-prance, even curving one wrist in an affected manner which horse- sculptors could only envy, looked back over its shoulder at the nurse. Its face, rosy and polished, had no more expression than an apple. Then it crawled straight off the rug. The nurse looked up from her book and gave a shrill cry of anger. Two spots of red appeared in her white cheeks. But she still held the book open before her at reading level; she was hoping, with all her might, that something would save her from breaking off in the middle of this wonderful chapter.

HER hope was lucky. A small girl of about five, in blue linen trousers with cross-over braces behind and a bib in front, had just come to inspect the laurel bushes. She squatted down and peered into them, probably in search of a hidy-hole. Her expression was, however, disinterested, even bored. She seemed to be performing a duty rather than a pleasure. Now, hearing the cry of "naughty," she started up, looked round the corner of the bush and saw the baby. At once she started forward and, repeating "Naughty! naughty! naughty!" all the way in exactly the nurse's tone but with a rising pitch, caught the baby by the thighs and dragged it to the rug. She then retreated backwards, at first quickly, as from the too-near presence of a strange nurse, but then more and more slowly. Her eyes, fixed on the baby, expressed both desire and regret. The same expression can be seen on the faces of polite children who, at a birthday party, too quickly refuse a second slice of cake.

The nurse's eyes had already darted back to her book. The baby, as soon as it felt solid ground beneath it, crawled off again, this time towards the path. The little girl gave a cry and rushed to the rescue. But now another little girl, dark-headed, in a short red frock, who was running along the path, also noticed the baby's escape. She turned to head it off from the gravel. "Dirty! dirty!" She reached it first, caught it and tried to lift it bodily into the air. She was a strong child and by a great effort she succeeded in raising its forepart from the ground so that it hung suspended. Its face, in this position, was still perfectly calm. "Dirty, dirty," the dark little girl scolded.

The blue girl now reached the spot and caught the baby round the legs. "Naughty, naughty." She dragged it towards the rug.

But the other, perhaps not having noticed the rug, half hidden by the shrubs, dragged it in a different direction so that its woollen coat rose over its ears. "Dirty, dirty," she cried.

"Naughty" cried the other, tugging at the legs. She did not look at the dark girl, who, for her part, ignored this interloper. Each pulled with all her might. The baby's clothes came apart in the middle, showing several inches of its round white body. But it made no sound. Its arms, sticking straight out like pegs, were obviously waiting to crawl again as soon as this interruption came to an end.

The dark little girl gave a sudden angry scream, whereupon blue trousers shouted, "It's mine, it's mine--I had it first." Her voice shook with tears.

In the distance, the nurse turned a page. Her nose jumped up six inches ready for the next sentence; but her eyes moved a little further, and saw the struggle. She cried in a tone of impatient despair, "Naughty boy."

"Let it alone," shouted the dark girl. "Leave go--go away."

"Mummy, Mummy," cried the other in tears.

A PLUMP young woman, strolling along the path in the sun, with a face of such tranquil, unreflecting enjoyment that she seemed like one of those drunks who, at the end of the party, do not even need to smile from their trance, stopped, gazed, gradually took in the scene and at last, with a look of such conscious wisdom that it seemed to say to itself "Ain't I a clever responsible person?", rescued the baby, carried it to the rug, and carefully, maternally laid it flat on its back.

The baby at once made a desperate attempt to turn over. Since it had forgotten the trick and jerked its arms and legs in different directions, it succeeded as before only in rocking itself slightly from side to side. But it continued its efforts with Chinese resolution. The nurse turned a page. The two little girls, who had followed the plump young woman to the rug, looked longingly at the baby; the plump young woman shooed them away with the gestures of one driving sheep. They retreated slowly and reluctantly, on divergent routes, glancing backwards. The dark one frowned and bridled; blue trousers sobbed. The plump young woman gazed round as if for the owner of the baby, but since the nurse, her face now completely hidden by the book as she sat forward in her chair, like a stall-holder at the crisis of the fifth act, gave no sign of attention, she moved away. A slight bend of her short neck sideways, a certain motion of the hips, at once decorous and undulating, seemed to say, "After all, virtue is its own reward."

Blue trousers flew at the baby, gave it two sharp smacks in the face and ran as if for her life. The baby uttered yells of astonishing loudness, each yell different from the last and expressive of a new species of disgust.

The nurse looked over the top of her book. Her mouth opened to call reproof. But she closed it again without speech. She saw that this time there was no help for her. She jumped up from her seat. The book was still open in her right hand--instinctively she was keeping the place. But suddenly, with a movement of fury, she banged it shut and threw it hard upon the ground. She wanted to hurt that book.

This file is automatically generated by a robot program, so reader's discretion is required.