NOW JONAS’S GROUP had taken a new place in the Auditorium, trading with the new Elevens,
so that they sat in the very front, immediately before the stage.
They were arranged by their original numbers, the numbers they had been given at birth.
The numbers were rarely used after the Naming. But each child knew his number, of course.
Sometimes parents used them in irritation at a child’s misbehavior, indicating that mischief made one unworthy of a name.
Jonas always chuckled when he heard a parent, exasperated, call sharply to a whining toddler, “That’s enough, Twenty-three!”
Jonas was Nineteen. He had been the nineteenth newchild born his year.
It had meant that at his Naming, he had been already standing and bright-eyed, soon to walk and talk.
It had given him a slight advantage the first year or two,
a little more maturity than many of his groupmates who had been born in the later months of that year.
But it evened out, as it always did, by Three. After Three, the children progressed at much the same level,
though by their first number one could always tell who was a few months older than others in his group.
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