hear their laughter until the corner hides them from
our view. Then we go about our own business, and a short time passes
by; and one day we meet them again, and their faces have grown older
and graver; and I always wonder what the Voice has told them during that
little while that they have been absent from our sight. But of course it
would not do to ask them. Nor would they answer truly if we did."

My friend laughed, and, leaving the window, took her place beside the
tea-things, and other callers dropping in, we fell to talk of pictures,
plays, and people.

But I felt it would be unwise to act on her sole advice, much as I have
always valued her opinion.

A woman takes life too seriously. It is a serious affair to most of us,
the Lord knows. That is why it is well not to take it more seriously
than need be.

Little Jack and little Jill fall down the hill, hurting their little
knees, and their little noses, spilling the hard-earned water. We are
very philosophical.

"Oh, don't cry!" we tell them, "that is babyish. Little boys and little
girls must learn to bear pain. Up you get, fill the pail again, and try
once more."

Little Jack and little Jill rub their dirty knuckles into their little
eyes, looking ruefully at their bloody little knees, and trot back with
the pail. We laugh at them, but not ill-naturedly.

"Poor little souls," we say; "how they did hullabaloo. One might have
thought they were half-killed. And it was only a broken crown, after
all. What a fuss children make!" We bear with much stoicism the fall of
little Jack and little Jill.

But when WE--grown-up Jack with moustache turning grey; grown-up Jill
with the first faint "crow's feet" showing--when WE tumble down the
hill, and OUR pail is spilt. Ye Heavens! what a tragedy has happened.
Put out the stars, turn off the sun, suspend the laws of nature. Mr.
Jack and Mrs. Jill, coming down the hill--what they were doing on the
hill we will not inquire--have slipped over a stone, placed there surely
by the evil powers of the universe. Mr. Jack and Mrs. Jill have bumped
their silly heads. Mr. Jack and Mrs. Jill have hurt their little hearts,
and stand marvelling that the world can go about its business in the
face of such disaster.

Don't take the matter quite so seriously, Jack and Jill. You have
spilled your happiness, you must toil up the hill again and refill the
pail. Carry it more carefully next time. What were you doing? Playing
some fool's