| OCR Text |
Show that the boy lost count, although he could remember the names of all the states whose license plates he'd seen. "I still don't want the bears," the boy said, as they unpacked the boxes. "Keep them anyway," said the father, "we may need them. We'll use them to send messages to the enemy." "Enemy?" "We're on a march, remember?" In the night, the boy was frightened in the strange place, and he cried out. After a long time, the father came, pulled the covers down from his chin, and pushed in one of the middle-sized bears. "You're thinking of your mother," he said, in a voice that simulated sympathy. "No, I'm not," said the boy, and he fished the bear up from the covers and threw it across the floor. "Go to sleep by yourself, then," said the father crossly, and went out of the room; the boy heard the door bang down the hall. He dreamed wretchedly, of his mother frightened and his father angry, of his mother severe and his father gone, of his father enraged and his mother vanished, and of himself in between, falling into a bottomless ocean from the deepest troughs of which he cried and cried, though no one could hear him, and in the morning the father scolded him for wetting the bed. |
