There was a bunch of little children rolling logs down a hillside. Below the hill was a lake. The kids seemed to be having fun doing this. There was something about a little boy drowning, though I wasn't very upset about it. Then another little fellow was hit on the head, and while he was dying in my arms, I called my paper in New York and dictated a human interest story. For a while at this point I seemed to think I was a man. I held the child and tried to quiet him, but he died while I was holding him. I was grief stricken. The boy supposedly died from a blow on the head by a log, but while I was reporting the incident, I had the idea that he had cancer.