After Miss Lapon had finished passing out the Play-Doh and the children had settled down to kneading and shaping the pastel claylike matter, she went among them to see what their young imaginations were producing.
Not much that an adult mind could recognize, Miss Lapon was not surprised to see. But that was not the purpose of this first-day exercise. Miss Lapon was looking for students having difficulty with motor coordination. It was important to spot the troubled ones early.
One little girl-it was the one who had been giggling earlier-had found a corner all to herself and was industriously pushing and pulling a sickly green lump of PlayDoh into a surprising anthropomorphic shape.
It looked to Miss Lapon's practiced eye like a squatting earth-mother figure, similar to those found in ancient Sumerian archaeological sites.
Except that this earth mother had six spidery arms.
Miss Lapon bent over her. "And how are you coming?"
The serious little girl didn't react at first.
"I asked," repeated Miss Lapon, thinking she had found a hearing-impairment problem, "how are you doing, little girl?"
The girl started. Her eyes focused. Miss Lapon made a mental note: strong powers of concentration.
"I'm almost done finishing her," the little girl said.
Miss Lapon smiled encouragement. "Very nice. Does she have a name?"
"Kali."
"Cally. That's a nice name. And what is your name?"
"Freya, daughter of Jilda," said the little blond girl with the cornflower-blue eyes.
Miss Lapon's eyes shone with amusement. "Don't you have a last name, Freya?"
A serious cloud passed over the childish features. "I don't think so," Freya admitted.
"No? Don't you have a daddy?"
The eye lit anew. "Oh, yes."
"What is your daddy's name?"
"His name," Freya said with childish pride, "is Remo."