the children-第7章

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pipe。　　One　or　two　of　these　things　he　has；　and　he　takes　them　without
the　least　swagger。　　He　avoids　expression　of　any　kind。　　Any
satisfaction　he　may　feel　with　things　as　they　are　is　rather　to　be
surprised　in　his　manner　than　perceived　in　his　action。　　Mr。　Jaggers；
when　it　befell　him　to　be　astonished；　showed　it　by　a　stop　of　manner；
for　an　indivisible　momentnot　by　a　pause　in　the　thing　he　chanced　to
be　about。　　In　like　manner　the　boy　cannot　prevent　his　most　innocent
pleasures　from　arresting　him。

He　will　not　endure　（albeit　he　does　not　confess　so　much）　to　be　told
to　do　anything；　at　least　in　that　citadel　of　his　freedom；　his　home。
His　elders　probably　give　him　as　few　orders　as　possible。　　He　will
almost　ingeniously　evade　any　that　are　inevitably　or　thoughtlessly
inflicted　upon　him；　but　if　he　does　but　succeed　in　only　postponing
his　obedience；　he　has；　visibly；　done　something　for　his　own　relief。
It　is　less　convenient　that　he　should　hold　mere　questions；　addressed
to　him　in　all　good　faith；　as　in　some　sort　an　attempt　upon　his
liberty。

Questions　about　himself　one　might　understand　to　be　an　outrage。　　But
it　is　against　impersonal　and　indifferent　questions　also　that　the　boy
sets　his　face　like　a　rock。　　He　has　no　ambition　to　give　information
on　any　point。　　Older　people　may　not　dislike　the　opportunity；　and
there　are　even　those　who　bring　to　pass　questions　of　a　trivial　kind
for　the　pleasure　of　answering　them　with　animation。　　This；　the　boy
perhaps　thinks；　is　〃fuss；〃　and；　if　he　has　any　passions；　he　has　a
passionate　dislike　of　fuss。

When　a　younger　child　tears　the　boy's　scrapbook　（which　is
conjectured；　though　not　known；　to　be　the　dearest　thing　he　has）　he
betrays　no　emotion；　that　was　to　be　expected。　　But　when　the　stolen
pages　are　rescued　and　put　by　for　him；　he　abstains　from　taking　an
interest　in　the　retrieval；　he　will　do　nothing　to　restore　them。　　To
do　so　would　mar　the　integrity　of　his　reserve。　　If　he　would　do　much
rather　than　answer　questions；　he　would　suffer　something　rather　than
ask　them。

He　loves　his　father　and　a　friend　of　his　father's；　and　he　pushes
them；　in　order　to　show　it　without　compromising　his　temperament。

He　is　a　partisan　in　silence。　　It　may　be　guessed　that　he　is　often
occupied　in　comparing　other　people　with　his　admired　men。　　Of　this
too　he　says　little；　except　some　brief　word　of　allusion　to　what　other
men　do　NOT　do。

When　he　speaks　it　is　with　a　carefully　shortened　vocabulary。　　As　an
author　shuns　monotony；　so　does　the　boy　shun　change。　　He　does　not
generally　talk　slang；　his　habitual　words　are　the　most　usual　of　daily
words　made　useful　and　appropriate　by　certain　varieties　of　voice。
These　express　for　him　all　that　he　will　consent　to　communicate。　　He
reserves　more　by　speaking　dull　words　with　zeal　than　by　using　zealous
words　that　might　betray　him。　　But　his　brevity　is　the　chief　thing；　he
has　almost　made　an　art　of　it。

He　is　not　〃merry。〃　　Merry　boys　have　pretty　manners；　and　it　must　be
owned　that　this　boy's　manners　are　not　pretty。　　But　if　not　merry；　he
is　happy；　there　never　was　a　more　untroubled　soul。　　If　he　has　an
almost　grotesque　reticence；　he　has　no　secrets。　　Nothing　that　he
thinks　is　very　much　hidden。　　Even　if　he　did　not　push　his　father；　it
would　be　evident　that　the　boy　loves　him；　even　if　he　never　laid　his
hand　（and　this　little　thing　he　does　rarely）　on　his　friend's
shoulder；　it　would　be　plain　that　he　loves　his　friend。　　His　happiness
appears　in　his　moody　and　charming　face；　his　ambition　in　his
dumbness；　and　the　hopes　of　his　life　to　come　in　ungainly　bearing。
How　does　so　much　heart；　how　does　so　much　sweetness；　all　unexpressed；
appear？　　For　it　is　not　only　those　who　know　him　well　that　know　the
child's　heart；　strangers　are　aware　of　it。　　This；　which　he　would　not
reveal；　is　the　only　thing　that　is　quite　unmistakable　and　quite
conspicuous。

What　he　thinks　that　he　turns　visibly　to　the　world　is　a　sense　of
humour；　with　a　measure　of　criticism　and　of　indifference。　　What　he
thinks　the　world　may　divine　in　him　is　courage　and　an　intelligence。
But　carry　himself　how　he　will；　he　is　manifestly　a　tender；　gentle；
and　even　spiritual　creature；　masculine　and　innocent〃a　nice　boy。〃
There　is　no　other　way　of　describing　him　than　that　of　his　own　brief
language。



ILLNESS



The　patience　of　young　children　in　illness　is　a　commonplace　of　some
little　books；　but　none　the　less　a　fresh　fact。　　In　spite　of　the
sentimental；　children　in　illness　remain　the　full　sources　of
perpetual　surprises。　　Their　self…control　in　real　suffering　is　a
wonder。　　A　little　turbulent　girl；　brilliant　and　wild；　and
unaccustomed；　it　might　be　thought；　to　deal　in　any　way　with　her　own
impulsesa　child　whose　way　was　to　cry　out；　laugh；　complain；　and
triumph　without　bating　anything　of　her　own　temperament；　and　without
the　hesitation　of　a　moment；　struck　her　face；　on　a　run；　against　a
wall　and　was　cut　and　in　a　moment　overwhelmed　with　pain　and　covered
with　blood。　　〃Tell　mother　it's　nothing！　　Tell　mother；　quick；　it's
nothing！〃　cried　the　magnanimous　child　as　soon　as　she　could　speak。

The　same　child　fell　over　the　rail　of　a　staircase　and　was　obliged　to
lie　for　some　ten　days　on　her　back；　so　that　the　strained　but　not
broken　little　body　might　recover　itself。　　Every　movement　was；　in　a
measure；　painful；　and　there　was　a　long　captivity；　a　helplessness
enforced　and　guarded　by　twinges；　a　constant　impossibility　to　yield
to　the　one　thing　that　had　carried　her　through　all　her　years
impulse。　　A　condition　of　acute　consciousness　was　imposed　upon　a
creature　whose　first　condition　of　life　had　been　unconsciousness；　and
this　during　the　long　period　of　ten　of　a　child's　days　and　nights　at
eight　years　old。

Yet　during　every　hour　of　the　time　the　child　was　not　only　gay　but
patient；　not　fitfully；　but　steadily；　resigned；　sparing　of　requests；
reluctant　to　be　served；　inventive　of　tender　and　pious　little　words
that　she　had　never　used　before。　　〃You　are　exquisite　to　me；　mother；〃
she　said；　at　receiving　some　common　service。

Even　in　the　altering　and　harassing　conditions　of　fever；　a　generous
child　assumes　the　almost　incredible　attitude　of　deliberate　patience。
Not　that　illness　is　to　be　trusted　to　work　so。　　There　is　another
child　who　in　his　brief　indispositions　becomes　invincible；　armed
against　medicine　finally。　　The　last　appeal　to　force；　as　his
distracted　elders　find；　is　all　but　an　impossibility；　but　in　any　case
it　would　be　a　failure。　　You　can　bring　the　spoon　to　the　child；　but
three　nurses　cannot　make　him　drink。　　This；　then；　is　the　occasion　of
the　ultimate　resistance。　　He　raises　the　standard　of　revolution；　and
casts　every　tradition　and　every　precept　to　the　wind　on　which　it
flies。　　He　has　his　elders　at　a　disadvantage；　for　if　they　pursue　him
with　a　grotesque　spoon　their　maxims　and　commands　are；　at　the　moment；
still　more　grotesque。　　He　is　committed　to　the　wild　novelty　of
absolute　refusal。　　He　not　only　refuses；　moreover；　he　disbelieves；　he
throws　everything　over。　　Told　that　the　medicine　is　not　so　bad；　this
nihilist　laughs。

Medicine　apart；　a　minor　ailment　is　an　interest　and　a　joy。　　〃Am　I
unwell　to…day；　mother？〃　asks　a　child　with　all　his　faith　and
confidence　at　the　highest　point。



THE　YOUNG　CHILD



The　infant　of　literature　〃wails〃　and　wails　feebly；　with　the
invariability　of　a　thing　unproved　and　taken　for　granted。　　Nothing；
nevertheless；　could　be　more　unlike　a　wail　than　the　most　distinctive
cry　whereon　the　child　of　man　catches　his　first　breath。　　It　is　a
hasty；　huddled　outcry；　sharp　and　brief；　rather　deep　than　shrill　in
tone。　　With　all　deference　to　old　moralities；　man　does　not　weep　at
beginning　this　world；　he　simply　lifts　up　his　new　voice　much　as　do
the　birds　in　the　Zoological　Gardens；　and　with　much　the　same　tone　as
some　of　the　duck　kind　there。　　He　does　not　weep　for　some　months　to
come。　　His　outcry　soon　becomes　the　human　cry　that　is　better　known
than　loved；　but　tears　belong　to　later　infancy。　　And　if　the　infant　of
days　neither　wails　nor　weeps；　the　infant　of　months　is　still　too
young　to　be　gay。　　A　child's　mirth；　when　at　last　it　begins；　is　his
first　secret；　you　understand　little　of　it。　　The　first　smile　（for　the
convulsive　movement　in　sleep　that　is　popularly　adorned　by　that　name
is　not　a　smile）　is　an　uncertain　sketch　of　a　smile；　unpractised　but
unmistakable。　　It　is　accompanied　by　a　single　sounda　sound　that
would　be　a　monosyllable　if　it　were　articulatewhich　is　the
utterance；　though　hardly　the　communication；　of　a　private　jollity。
That　and　that　alone　is　the　real　beginning　of　human　laughter。

From　the　end　of　the　first　fortnight　in　life；　when　it　appears　for　the
first　time；　and　as　it　were　flickeringly；　the　child's　smile　begins　to
grow　definite　and；　gradually；　more　frequent。　　By　very　slow　degrees
the　secrecy　passes　away；　and　the　dryness　becomes　more　genial。　　The
child　now　smiles　more　openly；　but　he　is　still　very　unlike　the
laughing　creature　of　so　much　prose　and　verse。　　His　laughter　takes　a
long　time　to　form。　　The　monosyllable　grows　louder；　and　then　comes　to
be　repeated　with　little　catches　of　the　breath。　　The　humour　upon
which　he　learns　to　laugh　is　that　of　something　which　approaches　him
quickly　and　then　withdraws。　　This　is　the　first　intelligible　jest　of
jesting　man。

An　infant　never　meets　your　eyes；　he　evidently　does　not　remark　the
features　of　faces　near　him。　　Whether　because　of　the　greater
conspicuousness　of　dark　hair　or　dark　hat；　or　for　some　like　reason；
he　addresses　his　looks；　his　laughs；　and　apparently　his　criticism；　to
the　heads；　not　the　faces；　of　his　friends。　　These　are　the　ways　of　all
infants；　various　in　character；　parentage；　race；　and　colour；　they　do
the　same　things。　　There　are　turns　in　a　kitten's　playarched
leapings　and　sidelong　jumps；　graceful　rearings　and　grotesque　dances…
…which　the　sacred　kittens　of　Egypt　used　in　their　time。　　But　not　more
alike　are　these　repetitions　than　the　impulses　of　all　young　children
learning　to　laugh。

In　regard　to　the　child　of　a　somewhat　later　growth；　we　are　told　much
of　his　effect　upon　the　world；　not　much　of　the　effect　of　the　world
upon　him。　　Yet　he　is　compelled　to　endure　the　reflex　results；　at
least；　of　all　that　pleases；　distresses；　or　oppresses　the　world。
That　he　should　be　obliged　to　suffer　the　moods　of　men　is　a　more
important　thing　than　that　men　should　be　amused　by　his　moods。　　If　he
is　saddened；　that　is　certainly　much　more　than　that　his　elders　should
be　gladdened。　　It　is　doubtless　hardly　possible　that　children　should
go　altogether　free　of　human　affairs。　　They　might；　in　mere　justice；
be　spared　the　burden　they　bear　ignorantly　and　simply　when　it　is　laid
upon　them；　of　such　events　and　ill　fortunes　as　may　trouble　our　peace；
but　they　cannot　easily　be　spared　the　hearing　of　a　disturbed　voice　or
the　sight　of　an　altered　face。　　Alas！　they　are　made　to　feel　money…
matters；　and　even　this　is　not　the　worst。　　There　are　unconfessed
worldliness；　piques；　and　rivalries；　of　which　they　do　not　know　the
names；　but　which　change　the　faces　where　they　look　for　smiles。　　To
such　alterations　children　are　sensitive　even　when　they　seem　least
accessible　to　the　commands；　the　warnings；　the　threats；　or　the
counsels　of　elders。　　Of　all　these　they　may　be　gaily　independent；　and
yet　may　droop　when　their　defied　tyrants　are　dejected。

For　though　the　natural　spirit　of　children　is　happy；　the　happiness　is
a　mere　im