That shabby unknown bundle of neglect and despair that was dropped off by the police six weeks ago—later to be identified by his mother, who turns up occasionally—is now a driving force on the infants' ward. Once he was bathed a few times and his rashes were treated, he turned out to be a 14-month-old boy named Vergil, still recovering from premature birth—birth weight, 2.5 pounds. It came obvious he had never received any real attention, and practical no solid food, and it was never very clear who assumed responsibility for him in his family, if anyone. Miraculously he survived, with almost no outside help.

At first he just lay there, withdrawn, sucking on an empty bottle as he had been used to doing at home. After a few days it became clear he was ravenously hungry and he downed bottle after bottle of milk. Slowly he began to respond to the ward staff around him who hung over the side of his crib, tempting him back to life.

He started by cautiously chewing on people, sniffing and tasting them warily like a little wild creature. Gradually he climbed to a standing position, pulling himself up on the bars of his crib. Then he began to discover noise—that came from himself. When he learned that it was acceptable, in this place, to scream when enraged, he filled his corner of the room with garbled speech-like sounds, and loud baby-bellows of demand. If nobody responded he would fix each passerby with a coy look that evolved into a seductive grin, revealing four widely space little teeth. Someone always stopped, grinning back at this adorable creature, then picking him up and cuddling him. We on the staff took personal pride and delight in his steady progress.

During the day we moved his crib from the infants' ward to the playroom where there are people coming and going. He loved it, standing and cruising in his crib, commenting happily on the scene, crowing and babbling. One afternoon, when his crib was moved adjacent to the wall, he became unusually quiet, deep in concentration. With the stealth of a cat, using his little fingers like tiny screwdrivers, he had taken apart the wall oxygen unit. Our delight in his progress turned to real respect. Perhaps we could steer him toward the right path before it was too late.

Vergil definitely had a future.