Then they played Hunt the Slipper, sitting round in a ring upon the carpet,
young Stephen trying to catch his own slipper, falling over upon his back,
kicking his legs in the air, dashing now at Stephen the Elder's beard, now
at his father's coat, now at Mr. Zanti's legs.
The noise of the laughter drowned the rain and the fire. Mr. Zanti had the
slipper--he was sitting upon it. Peter made a dash for it, Mr. Zanti rolled
over, they were all in a heap upon the floor.
"I've got it." Mr. Zanti was off on all fours round the room, the baby on
his back clutching on to his hair. A chair was over, then a box of bricks,
the table rocked and then was suddenly down with a crash!
What had come to them all? Stephen, so grave, so solemn, had caught the
baby into the air, had flung him up and caught him again. Peter and Mr.
Zanti looking up from the floor saw him standing, his legs wide, his beard
flowing, his arms stretched with young Stephen shouting between them.
Behind him, around him was a wrecked nursery....
The baby, surveying the world from this sudden height, wondered at this
amazing glory. He had never before beheld from such a position the things
that bounded his life. How strange the window seemed! Through it now he
could see the tops of the trees, the grey sky, the driving lines of rain!
Only a little way above him now were pictures that had always glowed before
from so great a distance.
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