a child of my own, which is, perhaps,
natural to a state of single blessedness, and so had plenty of time to
make other people's children a speciality. Besides, haven't I kept
district school, and boarded round enough to get an inside view of a
good many family circles? Haven't I seen droves of young ones, in loose
calico slips or cosey-fitting jackets and trousers, coming miles to
school, only setting their dinner baskets down now and then to stone a
squirrel, or climb up among the burrs of some great chestnut limb which
offered to give them a ride to Boston or a trip to Canterbury.

Dear me, I think I see them now running "like split," as they said, to
catch up time, with such a lively color rushing through the tan on their
faces, hats off, and sun-bonnets flying out by the strings.

There, that's what I call childhood. You and I, sister, know something
about it; now don't we? Do you remember that little red school-house
where we learned our letters, and the old broken-limbed apple-tree
behind it? No wonder the limbs got scraggly; they couldn't stand horse
for a whole school, year after year, without some wear and tear, could
they?

Well, may be you and I owe to that old patriarch more than we know of.
The apples were so sour the pigs wouldn't eat 'em, but they never hurt
us. Then the limbs stretching out every which way--weren't they splendid
to swing on, and in a hot day the shade was like a tent.

You and I have been tough and hearty all our lives, just as like as not
on account of that old tree and the long road home, and the pine woods
it ran through, with the good wholesome samp and milk when we got there.
There was generally a little red light in the sky from the sunset when
we went to bed, and just a streak of rosy yellow when we got up, with
dew enough on the grass to wash our faces in before breakfast.

That's what I call life for a child; all out-doors for a playground,
good, sound sleep, plenty of wholesome food, three times a day, and
always hungry at that. Why, the few years after you begin to toddle, and
before you learn to read, if you're properly let alone, are choke-full
of happiness that ripples like a brook through your whole life. I say,
once more, it's a sin and a shame to cheat a child out of that which is
just God's portion of a human life.

Now I ask you, isn't it probable, between you and I, that the Saviour
picked out just such bright, happy little creatures as these, when He
took 'em