Page "fiction" Paragraph 390

She was a child too much a part of her environment, too eager to grow and learn and experience.

Once, they were at Easthampton for the summer ( again, Fritzie said, a good place, even though they were being robbed ).

One soft evening -- that marvelous sea-blessed time when the sun's departing warmth lingers and a smell of spume and wrack haunts everything -- Amy had picked herself off the floor and begun to walk.

Fritzie was on the couch reading ; ;

Laura was sitting in an easy chair about eight feet away.

The infant, in white terry-cloth bathrobe, her face intense and purposeful, had essayed a few wobbly steps toward her father.

`` Y'all wanna walk -- walk '', he said.

Then, gently, he shoved her behind toward Laura.

Amy walked -- making it halfway across the cottage floor.

She lost not a second, picking herself up and continuing her pilgrimage to Laura.

Then Laura took her gently and shoved her off again, toward Fritzie: Amy did not laugh -- this was work, concentration, achievement.

In a few minutes she was making the ten-foot hike unaided ; ;

soon she was parading around the house, flaunting her new skill.