When Michael, Lyman's older son, was in nursery school in New Orleans, his teacher taught the tykes a little song:

Sharing time is a happy time.
We share our books and we share our toys,
And have a very, very happy, happy time.

I don't know where Lucy learned that, but she believes it to the end of each quivering feather, unless she's the one expected to share.

A few days ago I gave her half a pomegranate. She'd just piddled with it a bit when I picked it up and separated out a few seeds to eat myself.

She stood stock still and looked at me with disbelieving horror.

"You didn't do that, did you?" she seemed to ask.