Rummaging in Timmie's pile of storybooks, Miss Fellowes found one of his favorites, a retelling of the story of William Tell. What meaning the story itself had for him was something she couldn't even begin to guess, but the book was boldly and vividly illustrated and he pored over it again and again, lightly rubbing his fingers over the bright pictures. She opened it now to the two-page spread showing William Tell shooting the apple off his son's head with a bolt from his crossbow, and indicated, first the archer in his medieval costume, then his son.
"Father-son-father-son-"
Timmie nodded gravely.
What, she wondered, was he thinking? That Dr. Hoskins was really a handsome man with long blond hair who wore strange clothing and carried a curious machine under his arm? Or that someone was going to come here to shoot apples off his head? Perhaps it had been an error to muddle the moment with abstract concepts like "father" and "son."
Well, all that was really important was that Timmie would have a friend soon.
"He'll be coming after we've finished breakfast," Miss Fellowes told him. "He's a very nice boy." She profoundly hoped that he was. "And you'll show him what a nice boy you are too, won't you?" "Nice boy. Yes."
"You'll be his friend. He'll be your friend."
"Friend. Nice boy."
His eyes were gleaming. But did he understand? Did he understand any of this at all?
She felt all sorts of unexpected misgivings as the time of Jerry Hoskins' arrival drew near. She saw all sorts of problems that she had not considered before.
Stop it, she told herself.
(You've wanted this for Timmie for months. And now it's happening. There's nothing to worry about. Nothing.)
"Miss Fellowes?"
Hoskins' voice, on the intercom.
"Here they are," she said to Timmie. "Jerry's coming!"
To her surprise, Timmie went scuttling into his playroom and closed the door partway. He peered out uneasily. Not a good sign, she thought.
"Timmie-" she began.
And then the whole Hoskins family was at the threshold of the Stasis bubble.
Hoskins said, "This is my boy Jerry. Say hello to Miss Fellowes, Jerry."
She saw a round-faced, large-eyed child, with pale cheeks and loose, unruly brown hair, clutching at Annette Hoskins' skirt. He looked very much like his father: a five-year-old version of Gerald Hoskins, yes.
"Say hello," Hoskins said to the boy, a little ominously this time.
"Hello." It was barely audible. Jerry receded a bit farther into the folds of the maternal skirt.
Miss Fellowes gave him her warmest, most inviting smile. "Hello, Jerry. Would you like to come in? This is where Timmie lives. -Timmie's going to be your friend."
Jerry stared. He looked as though he would much rather bolt and run.
"Lift him over the threshold," Hoskins said to his wife, not very patiently.
She gathered the boy into her arms-it was a distinct effort; Jerry was big for his age-and stepped over the threshold. Jerry squirmed visibly as the threshold sensations of Stasis passed through him.
"He isn't happy, Gerald," Mrs. Hoskins said.
"I can see that. It'll take a little time for him to feel at ease. Put him down."
Annette Hoskins' eyes searched the room. The. muscles in her arms tensed visibly. However much she might have been won over by Timmie on her earlier visit, she seemed more than a little apprehensive now. Her precious little child, turned loose in the cage of this ape-boy"Put him down, Annette."
She nodded. The boy backed up against her, staring worriedly at the pair of eyes which were staring back at him from the next room.
"Come out here, Timmie," Miss Fellowes said. "This is your new friend, Jerry. Jerry wants very much to meet you. Don't be afraid."
Slowly Timmie stepped into the room. Jerry squirmed. Hoskins bent to disengage Jerry's fingers from his mother's skirt. In a stage whisper he said, "Step back, Annette. For God's sake, give the children a chance."
The youngsters faced one another, standing virtually nose to nose. Although Jerry was almost certainly some months younger than Timmie, nevertheless he was an inch taller. And in the presence of Jerry's straightness and his high-held well-proportioned head, Timmie's grotesqueries of appearance were suddenly almost as pronounced in Miss Fellowes' eyes as they had been in the earliest days.
Miss Fellowes' lips quivered.
There was a long silent awkward moment of mutual staring. It was the little Neanderthal who spoke first, finally, in childish treble. "My name is Timmie."
And he thrust his face suddenly forward as though to inspect the other's features more closely.
Startled, Jerry responded with a vigorous shove that sent Timmie tumbling. Both began crying loudly, and Mrs. Hoskins snatched up her child, while Miss Fellowes, flushed with repressed anger, lifted Timmie quickly and comforted him. The little animal! she thought vehe-mendy. The vicious little beast!
But she knew that she was being much too harsh. Timmie had startled Jerry; Jerry had defended himself in the only way he knew. Nothing out of the ordinary had taken place. Something like this was exactly what they should have expected at the outset, Miss Fellowes told herself.
"Well," Hoskins said. "Well!"
Annette Hoskins said, "I knew this wasn't a good idea. They just instinctively don't like each other." "It isn't instinctive," Miss Fellowes said firmly. "No," Hoskins said. "It's not instinctive at all. Any more than when any two children dislike each other on first sight. Put Jerry down and let him get used to the situation."
"What if that cave-boy hits Jerry back?" "It won't be at all amazing if he does," said Hoskins. "But he can take care of himself. And if he can't, it's time he started learning how. We just have to let him get accustomed to this by himself."
Annette Hoskins still looked uncertain.
"In fact," her husband went on, "I think the best thing is for you and me to leave. If there are any problems, Miss Fellowes will know how to handle them. Arid after an hour or so she can bring Jerry to my office and I'll have him taken home."
It was a long hour. Timmie retreated to the far end of the room and glowered malevolently at Jerry as though trying to eradicate him from the universe by the intensity of his glare alone. Evidently he had decided not to take refuge in the back room as he often did when he felt troubled, perhaps thinking that it was unwise to withdraw and thereby concede the front section of his domain to the enemy by default.
As for Jerry, he huddled miserably at the opposite end of the room, crying for his mother. He looked so unhappy that Miss Fellowes, though aware that she risked upsetting Timmie even further, went to him and tried to reassure him that his mother was nearby, that he hadn't been abandoned at all, that he'd be seeing her again in just a short while.
"Want her now!" Jerry said.
(You probably think you've been left here to live in this room forever, don't you, child? Just you and Timmie, locked up in this little dollhouse with each other. And you hate the idea. Of course you do. Just as Timmie must.)
"Home!" Jerry said. "Now!"
"You'll be going home soon, Jerry," she told the boy. "This is only a little visit."
He struck out at her with his clenched fists.
"No," Miss Fellowes said, catching him deftly by his belt and holding him at arm's length while he flailed unsuccessfully at her. "No, Jerry! No, don't hit. -How would you like a lollipop, Jerry?" "No! No! No!"
Miss Fellowes laughed. "I think you would, though. You stay right where you are and I'll get one for you."
She unlocked the hidden lollipop cache-Timmie had already proved he couldn't be trusted to keep away from the supply she kept on hand-and pulled out a huge spherical green one, almost too big to fit in the boy's mouth.
Jerry's eyes went wide and he stopped wailing instantly.
"I thought so," Miss Fellowes said, with a grin. She handed the lollipop to him, and he stuck it into his mouth with no difficulty at all.