less about such matters and too soon gave up, and merely sent a child to an institution. Accordingly, Jerry remained at our house; and then, when my mother's efforts brought no result, she still kept him. A child's specialist examined him and found him reassuringly sound, with excellent development, no ascertainable defects or hereditary taints, all senses acute, and decidedly "bright." Apparently, he was about two years old; "of European parentage" was as far as the doctor would commit himself.
"French," my mother decided. "He says his name is 'Jerry.' I don't think that it is his name; it probably represents 'mon cheri.'"
"Spanish," my father always said, for no reason, I believe, other than he thought my mother was too positive and also he particularly liked the Spanish. They couldn't help liking Jerry, who knew, besides his name, only the usual hundred or so ordinary words which a child picks up first; English words, they were, at first spoken with a marked French accent, my, mother said.
So they let Jerry and me play together; I was an only child. A companion, therefore, was "good for me"; and we have been together
