tle God and Dicky."]

[We have debated long and earnestly which of the seven stories
in "The Madness of Phillip and Other Tales of Childhood" is the
best public reading. As yet we have no decision; certainly six
of them are among the choicest readings of child-life which may
be found in American literature, where we have the real child in
books. With the permission of the author and the publishers,
McClure, Phillips & Co., New York, we reprint cuttings from two
of these stories.]

"Where are you going?" said somebody, as he slunk out toward the
hat-rack.

"Oh, out."

"Well, see that you don't stay long. Remember what it is this
afternoon."

He turned like a stag at bay.

"_What_ is it this afternoon?" he demanded viciously.

"You know very well."

"_What?_"

"See that you're here, that's all. You've got to get dressed."

"I will not go to that old dancing school again, and I tell you that
I won't, and I won't. And I won't!"

"Now, Dick, don't begin that all over again. It's so silly of you.
You've got to go."

"Why?"

"Because it's the thing to do."

"Why?"

"Because you must learn to dance."

"Why?"

"Every nice boy learns."

"Why?"

"That will do, Richard. Go and find your pumps. Now, get right up from
the floor, and if you scratch the Morris chair I shall speak to your
father. Ain't you ashamed of yourself? Get right up--you must expect to
be hurt, if you pull so. Come, Richard! Now, stop crying--a great boy
like you! I am sorry I hurt your elbow, but you know very well you
aren't crying for that at all. Come along!"

His sister flitted by the door, her accordeon-plaited skirt held
carefully from the floor, her hair in two glistening, blue-knotted
pigtails.

"Hurry up, Dick, or we'll be late," she called back sweetly.

"Oh, you shut up, will you!" he snarled.

She looked meek, and listened to his deprivation of dessert for the
rest of the week with an air of love for the sinner and hatred for the
sin that deceived even her older sister who was dressing her.

A desperately patient monologue from the next room indicated the course
of events there.

"Your necktie is on the bed. No, I don't know where the blue one is--it
doesn't matter; that it just as good. Yes, it is. No, you cannot. You
will have to wear one. Because no one ever goes without. I don't know why.

"Many a boy would be thankful and glad to have silk stockings. Nonsense,
your legs are