When he managed to vault the sill of the second-story window by some antic contortion of his limbs, they dismissed the episode. Mrs. Danner had been baking. She heard the child’s voice and it seemed to come from the yard. Startled, incredulous, she rushed upstairs. Hugo was not in his room. His wail drifted through the window. She looked out. He was lying in the yard, fifteen feet below. She rushed to his side. He had not been hurt.

Danner made a pen of the iron heads and feet of two old beds. He wired them together. The baby was kept in the inclosure thus formed. The days warmed and lengthened. No one except the Danners knew of the prodigy harboured by their unostentatious house. But the secret was certain to leak out eventually.

Mrs. Nolan, the next-door neighbour, was first to learn it. She had called on Mrs. Danner to borrow a cup of sugar. The call, naturally, included a discussion of various domestic matters and a visit to the baby. She voiced a question that had occupied her mind for some time.

“Why do you keep the child in that iron thing? Aren’t you afraid it will hurt itself?”

“Oh, no.”

Mrs. Nolan viewed young Hugo. He was lying on a large pillow. Presently he rolled off its surface. “Active youngster, isn’t he?”

“Very,” Mrs. Danner said, nervously.

Hugo, as if he understood and desired to demonstrate, seized a corner of the pillow and flung it from him. It traversed a long arc and landed on the floor. Mrs. Nolan was startled. “Goodness! I never saw a child his age that could do that!”

“No. Let’s go downstairs. I want to show you some tidies I’m making.”

Mrs. Nolan paid no attention. She put the pillow back in the pen and watched while Hugo tossed it out. “There’s something funny about that. It isn’t normal. Have you seen a doctor?”

Mrs. Danner fidgeted. “Oh, yes. Little Hugo’s healthy.”

Little Hugo grasped the iron wall of his miniature prison. He pulled himself toward it. His skirt caught in the floor. He pulled harder. The pen moved toward him. A high soprano came from Mrs. Nolan. “He’s moved it! I don’t think I could move it myself! I tell you, I’m going to ask the doctor to examine him. You shouldn’t let a child be like that.”

Mrs. Danner, filled with consternation, sought refuge in prevarication. “Nonsense,” she said as calmly as she could. “All we Douglases are like that. Strong children. I had a grandfather who could lift a cider keg when he was five—two hundred pounds and more. Hugo just takes after him, that’s all.”