Conscious that they did not know him to be under the table, little Jon was visited by the quite new feeling of embarrassment, and stayed where he was, ravaged by desire for the mushroom.

Such had been his first dip into the dark abysses of existence. Nothing much had been revealed to him after that, till one day, having gone down to the cow-house for his drink of milk fresh from the cow, after Garratt had finished milking, he had seen Clover’s calf, dead. Inconsolable, and followed by an upset Garratt, he had sought Da; but suddenly aware that she was not the person he wanted, had rushed away to find his father, and had run into the arms of his mother.

“Clover’s calf’s dead! Oh! Oh! It looked so soft!”

His mother’s clasp, and her:

“Yes, darling, there, there!” had stayed his sobbing. But if Clover’s calf could die, anything could⁠—not only bees, flies, beetles and chickens⁠—and look soft like that! This was appalling⁠—and soon forgotten!