"
And another, having an anecdote to tell concerning the Thames and a
little brook that joins it near the house, calls the first the "front-
sea" and the second the "back-sea." There is no intention of taking
liberties with the names of things--only a cheerful resolve to go on in
spite of obstacles. It is such a spirit of liberty as most of us have
felt when we have dreamt of improvising a song or improvising a dance.
The child improvises with such means as he has.
This is, of course, at the very early ages. A little later--at eight or
nine--there is a very clear-headed sense of the value of words. So that
a little girl of that age, told that she may buy some fruit, and wishing
to know her limits in spending, asks, "What mustn't it be more than?" For
a child, who has not the word "maximum" at hand, nothing could be more
precise and concise. Still later, there is a sweet brevity that looks
almost like conscious expression, as when a boy writes from his first
boarding school: "Whenever I can't stop laughing I have only to think of
home."
Infinitely different as children are, they differ in nothing more than in
the degree of generosity. The most sensitive of children is a little gay
girl whose feelings are hurt with the greatest facility, and who seems,
indeed, to have the susceptibilty of other ages as well as of her own--for
instance, she cannot endure without a flush of pain to hear herself
called fat.
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