I
A woman was taking her morning stroll in a lonely suburban street; a
boy of four was with her. She was young and smart and she was smiling
brightly; she was casting affectionate glances at her son, whose red
cheeks beamed with happiness. The boy was bowling a hoop; a large, new,
bright yellow hoop. He ran after his hoop awkwardly, laughed
uproariously with joy, thrust forward his plump little legs, bare at
the knee, and flourished his stick. He needn’t have raised his stick so
high above his head—but what of that?
What happiness! He had never had a hoop before; how briskly it made him
run!
And nothing of this had existed for him before; everything was new to
him—the streets in early morning, the merry sun, and the distant din of
the city. Everything was new to the boy—and joyous and pure.