of sorrowful suggestion, and a walk through a vegetable garden is
like a funeral procession. They meditate upon the tragic side of
all existence; and to them there will be nothing strange in this
story of the tragedy of Little Red Tom.

You have guessed that he was called "red" on account of his colour.
It was a family trait. All his brothers had it; and strange to say
they were proud of it.

Most people are so foolish that they speak with ridicule, or even
with contempt of this colour, when it is personally evolved. Have
you ever asked yourself why it is that the cold world alludes
derisively to a "red-headed boy," or a "red-headed girl"? The
language is different when the locks are of another hue. Then it is
a "black-haired boy," or a "golden-haired girl." Is not the very
word "red-headed," with its implied slur upon an innocent and
gorgeous colour, an unconscious evidence of the unreasonable
prejudice and hard insensibility of the human race?

Not so the family of Tom. The redder they grew the happier they
were, and the more pride their mother took in them. But she herself
was green. And so was little Tom, like all his brothers, when he
made his first appearance in the world--green--very green.

Nestled against his mother's side, sheltered by her embracing arms,
safe and happy in the quietude of her maternal care, he must have
looked out upon the passing show with wonder and pleasure, while
she instilled into him the lessons of wisdom and the warnings of
destiny.

"Grow, my little one," we can imagine her saying to him, in her
mysterious wordless language, "your first duty is to grow. Look at
your brothers, how big and round and fat they are! I can hardly
lift them. They did what I told them, and see what they have
become. All by growing! Simple process! Even a babe can understand
it. Grow, my Tommykin, grow! But don't try to grow red; first, you
must grow big."

It is quite sure, and evident to every imaginative observer of
nature, that Tommy's mother _must_ have told him something like
this, for this is precisely what he did--obedient, docile, clever
little creature! How else could he have learned it, if she had not
taught him? Who can trace the subtle avenues by which intelligence
is communicated from the old to the young, the treasured lore of
the ages