IT took Howling Sara to give perfect humility to Alice and Tom. She was born when Robert was three.
"Now," thought Alice, "I will correct all the mistakes I made with Robert. I know how to be a better mother now."
Tom, also, believed he had learned a little about being a father. When Sara was a little baby they spent no time in talking about what good parents they were. They had gotten to the point when parents talk about Development, and Spontaneity, and Co-ordination. This was all very well, except that they made plans again without allowing for X, which one may let represent Sara's personality. Robert gave them the first lesson concerning it. He was at closer quarters with it and no theories dimmed the clearness of his observation.
There was no doubt about it, Sara cried more than Robert had—it would be more strictly true to say she howled more. She acted as the book said babies didn't act when they were well. She howled over nothing. She had moments of sheer unreasonable howling which nothing would stop. If you picked her up she howled, and when you set her down she howled more. When on one of these occasions Alice in anguish asked the nurse:
"Oh, what do you think is the matter? Why do you think she's crying?"
"She's just mad," Robert explained. "When she's mad she yells. When she stops being mad she stops yelling."
