William Bannister Winfield slept the peaceful sleep of childhood in hissterilized cot. The light gleamed faintly on the white tiles. It lit upthe brass knobs on the walls, the spotless curtains, the largethermometer.

　　An intruder, interested in these things, would have seen by a glance atthis last that the temperature of the room was exactly that recommendedby doctors as the correct temperature for the nursery of a sleepingchild; no higher, no lower. The transom over the door was closed, butthe window was open at the top to precisely the extent advocated by theauthorities, due consideration having been taken for the time of yearand the condition of the outer atmosphere.

　　The hour was one in the morning.

　　Childhood is a readily adaptable time of life, and William Bannister,after a few days of blank astonishment, varied by open mutiny, hadaccepted the change in his surroundings and daily existence withadmirable philosophy. His memory was not far-reaching, and, as timewent on and he began to accommodate himself to the new situation, hehad gradually forgotten the days at the studio, as, it is to besupposed, he had forgotten the clouds of glory which he had trailed onhis entry into this world. If memories of past bear-hunts among thecanvases on the dusty floor ever came to him now, he never mentionedit.

　　A child can weave romance into any condition of life in which fateplaces him; and William Bannister had managed to interest himself inhis present existence with a considerable gusto. Scraps of conversationbetween Mrs. Porter and Mamie, overheard and digested, had given him agood working knowledge of the system of hygiene of which he was thecentre. He was vague as to details, but not vaguer than most people.

　　He knew that something called "sterilizing" was the beginning and endof life, and that things known as germs were the Great Peril. He hadexpended much thought on the subject of germs. Mamie, questioned, couldgive him no more definite information than that they were "things whichgot at you and hurt you," and his awe of Mrs. Porter had kept him fromgoing to the fountainhead of knowledge for further data.

　　Building on the information to hand, he had formed in his mind an oddkind of anthropomorphic image of the germ. He pictured it as a squat,thick-set man of repellent aspect and stealthy movements, who sneakedup on you when you were not looking and did unpleasant things to you,selecting as the time for his attacks those nights when you had allowedyour attention to wander while saying your prayers.

　　On such occasions it was Bill's practice to fool him by repeating hisprayers to himself in bed after the official ceremony. Some times, tomake certain, he would do this so often that he fell asleep inmid-prayer.

　　He was always glad of the night-light. A germ hates light, preferringto do his scoundrelly work when it is so black that you can't see yourhand in front of your face and the darkness presses down on you like ablanket. Occasionally a fear would cross his mind that the night-lightmight go out; but it never did, being one of Mr. Edison's best electricefforts neatly draped with black veiling.