her toys put together would not console her for the absence of Wriggly.
If the family go to the seaside, Wriggly must come too. She will not
sleep without the absurd bundle in her arms. If she goes to a party she
insists upon dragging its disreputable folds along with her, one end
always projecting "to give it fresh air." Every phase of childhood
represents to the philosopher something in the history of the race. From
the new-born baby which can hang easily by one hand from a broomstick
with its legs drawn up under it, the whole evolution of mankind is re-
enacted. You can trace clearly the cave-dweller, the hunter, the scout.
What, then, does Wriggly represent? Fetish worship--nothing else. The
savage chooses some most unlikely thing and adores it. This dear little
savage adores her Wriggly.

So now we have our three little figures drawn as clearly as a clumsy pen
can follow such subtle elusive creatures of mood and fancy. We will
suppose now that it is a summer evening, that Daddy is seated smoking in
his chair, that the Lady is listening somewhere near, and that the three
are in a tumbled heap upon the bear-skin before the empty fireplace
trying to puzzle out the little problems of their tiny lives. When three
children play with a new thought it is like three kittens with a ball,
one giving it a pat and another a pat, as they chase it from point to
point. Daddy would interfere as little as possible, save when he was
called upon to explain or to deny. It was usually wiser for him to
pretend to be doing something else. Then their talk was the more
natural. On this occasion, however, he was directly appealed to.

"Daddy!" asked Dimples.

"Yes, boy."

"Do you fink that the roses know us?"

Dimples, in spite of his impish naughtiness, had a way of looking such a
perfectly innocent and delightfully kissable little person that one felt
he really might be a good deal nearer to the sweet secrets of Nature than
his elders. However, Daddy was in a material mood.

"No, boy; how could the roses know us?"

"The big yellow rose at the corner of the gate knows _me_."

"How do you know that?"

"'Cause it nodded to me yesterday."

Laddie roared with laughter.

"That was just the wind, Dimples."

"No, it was not," said Dimples, with conviction. "There was none wind.
Baby was there. Weren't you, Baby?"

"The wose knew us," said Baby, gravely.

"Beasts know us," said Laddie. "But them beasts run round