fly dropped delicately to the grass near him. His eye, already maturing, noted the gold powder on the gracefully waving wings and he shivered with delight at his own perception, causing the insect to fly away. Boy-like, he abandoned contemplation and joined the chase. Boy and butterfly the contrast and yet the likeness so great as to be almost unbearable had anyone been looking. Trotting or flitting, grubby or sun-washed, both so bright and shiny-new, innocent and trusting, yet so vulnerable--so very vulnerable. The butterfly landed briefly on the great trunk of the poplar. The grubby hand just missed it and the 'little one' laughed with abandon. He didn't really care to catch it. Capriciously, the golden insect settled on the mossy pipe of the flowing well, just a few feet away, as if it knew the race was all in fun. Dappled sunlight sparked off its wings, lighting up the cool shade of the poplar tree. The boy stepped lightly into the water toward its source. As he watched the crusty dirt crumble off his feet and disintegrate in the water, he hesitated and his eyes grew grave. An intangible, troubled memory glimin the back of his consciousness. He tried to recall. 26 His barely remembered mo ther--stood at the back door. He was given a gingerbread man. Too enchanted to eat it right away, he had fondled the sweet a bit and carried it with him while he had thought about eating it, and his hunger had grown. His clumsy baby hand had dropped the gingerbread man; and, since it was dirty, he had done what seemed logical to his inexperience. He had toddled over to the well and washed it. He could almost remember the betrayal he had felt when the gingerbread crumbled away in his hands and disappeared into the running water. He had no later memory of his mother. Soon afterward she had gone away--to heaven Granny said. He looked back down at his feet as the last of the dirt dissolved; and, joining with the water, it too was gone. The sun was still shining but the joy had gone out of it. He knew what he wanted--to bury his head in Granny's lap; and relinquishing his independence for this day, he raced toward the house. The yellow butterfly, left alone, gently folded then unfolded its wings in the thin sunlight. by Beverly Grow 27