ild's
inner life, and adds an element to the store from which he draws his moral
inferences.

The most familiar instance of a moral truth conveyed under a fairy-story
image is probably the story of the pure-hearted and loving girl whose lips
were touched with the wonderful power of dropping jewels with every spoken
word, while her stepsister, whose heart was infested with malice and evil
desires, let ugly toads fall from her mouth whenever she spoke. I mention
the old tale because there is probably no one of my readers who has not
heard it in childhood, and because there are undoubtedly many to whose
mind it has often recurred in later life as a sadly perfect presentment of
the fact that "out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaketh." That
story has entered into the forming consciousness of many of us, with its
implications of the inevitable result of visible evil from evil in the
heart, and its revelation of the loathsomeness of evil itself.

And no less truly than this story has served to many as an embodiment of
moral law has another household tale stood for a type of common
experience. How much the poorer should we be, mentally, without our early
prophecy of the "ugly ducklings" we are to meet later in life!--those
awkward offspring of our little human duckyard who are mostly well kicked
and buffeted about, for that very length of limb and breadth of back which
needs must be, to support swan's wings. The story of the ugly duckling is
much truer than many a bald statement of fact. The English-speaking world
bears witness to its verity in constant use of the title as an identifying
phrase: "It is the old story of the ugly duckling," we say, or "He has
turned out a real ugly duckling." And we know that our hearers understand
the whole situation.

The consideration of such familiar types and expressions as that of the
ugly duckling suggests immediately another good reason for giving the
child his due of fairy lore. The reason is that to omit it is to deprive
him of one important element in the full appreciation of mature
literature. If one thinks of it, one sees that nearly all adult literature
is made by people who, in their beginnings, were bred on the wonder tale.
Whether he will or no, the grown-up author must incorporate into his work
the tendencies, memories, kinds of feeling which were his in childhood.
The literature of maturity is, naturally, permeated by the influence of
the literature of childhood.