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irrefutable. Robbie’s arms were wings catching the air currents and he was a silver ‘coaster.
    Gloria twisted the robot’s head and leaned to the right. He banked sharply. Gloria equipped the ‘coaster with a motor that went “Br-r-r” and then with weapons that went “Powie” and “Sh-sh-shshsh.” Pirates were giving chase and the ship’s blasters were coming into play. The pirates dropped in a steady rain.
    “Got another one. Two more,” she cried.
    Then “Faster, men,” Gloria said pompously, “we’re running out of ammunition.” She aimed over her shoulder with undaunted courage and Robbie was a blunt-nosed spaceship zooming through the void at maximum acceleration.
    Clear across the field he sped, to the patch of tall grass on the other side, where he stopped with a suddenness that evoked a shriek from his flushed rider, and then tumbled her onto the soft, green carpet.
    Gloria gasped and panted, and gave voice to intermittent whispered exclamations of “That was nice!”
    Robbie waited until she had caught her breath and then pulled gently at a lock of hair.
    “You want something?” said Gloria, eyes wide in an apparently artless complexity that fooled her huge “nursemaid” not at all. He pulled the curl harder.
    “Oh, I know. You want a story.”
    Robbie nodded rapidly.
    “Which one?”
    Robbie made a semi-circle in the air with one finger.
    The little girl protested, “Again? I’ve told you Cinderella a million times. Aren’t you tired of it?-It’s for babies.”
    Another semi-circle.
    “Oh, well,” Gloria composed herself, ran over the details of the tale in her mind (together with her own elaborations, of which she had several) and began:
    “Are you ready? Well – once upon a time there was a beautiful little girl whose name was Ella. And she had a terribly cruel step-mother and two very ugly and very cruel step-sisters and-”
     
    Gloria was reaching the very climax of the tale – midnight was striking and everything was changing back to the shabby originals lickety-split, while Robbie listened tensely with burning eyes – when the interruption came.
    “Gloria!”
    It was the high-pitched sound of a woman who has been calling not once, but several times; and had the nervous tone of one in whom anxiety was beginning to overcome impatience.
    “Mamma’s calling me,” said Gloria, not quite happily. “You’d better carry me back to the house, Robbie.”
    Robbie obeyed with alacrity for somehow there was that in him which judged it best to obey Mrs. Weston, without as much as a scrap of hesitation. Gloria’s father was rarely home in the daytime except on Sunday – today, for instance – and when he was, he proved a genial and understanding person. Gloria’s mother, however, was a source of uneasiness to Robbie and there was always the impulse to sneak away from her sight.
    Mrs. Weston caught sight of them the minute they rose above the masking tufts of long grass and retired inside the house to wait.
    “I’ve shouted myself hoarse, Gloria,” she said, severely. “Where were you?”
    “I was with Robbie,” quavered Gloria. “I was telling him Cinderella, and I forgot it was dinner-time.”
    “Well, it’s a pity Robbie forgot, too.” Then, as if that reminded her of the robot’s presence, she whirled upon him. “You may go, Robbie. She doesn’t need you now.” Then, brutally, “And don’t come back till I call you.”
    Robbie turned to go, but hesitated as Gloria cried out in his defense, “Wait, Mamma, you got to let him stay. I didn’t finish Cinderella for him. I said I would tell him Cinderella and I’m not finished.”
    “Gloria!”
    “Honest and truly, Mamma, he’ll stay so quiet, you won’t even know he’s here. He can sit on the chair in the corner, and he won’t say a word, I mean he won’t do anything. Will you, Robbie?”
    Robbie, appealed to, nodded his massive head up and down once.
    “Gloria, if you don’t stop this at once,