t is not that request better than the fretful whine of
the child who is sated with play and still demands more?

"She missed the little _hindering_ thing."

says one line of a heart-breaking old poem descriptive of a bereaved
mother's loneliness.

Eugene Field strikes the same chord, until she who has laid a child
under the sod thrills with remorseful pain:

"No bairn let hold until her gown,
Nor played upon the floore,--
Godde's was the joy; a lyttle boy
_Ben in the way no more_!"

Ah, impatient mother! as you put aside the affectionate officiousness
of the would-be assistant, with frown or hasty word, bethink yourself
for one moment of the possible time when, in the dreary calm of a
well-ordered house, you will hearken vainly for shrilly-sweet prattle
and pattering feet!

There are ways in which even the toddlers can make work lighter for
the mothers. When your small daughter has finished with her toys, she
should be obliged to put them away in a box kept for that purpose. The
mother and nurse will thus be spared the bending of the back and
stooping of the knees to accomplish this light task, and the child
will enjoy the occupation, and feel very important and "grown-up" in
putting her doll to bed, and dolly's furniture, clothes, etc., in
their proper place.

When making the beds, allow the little girl to hand you the pillows;
and, even should you stumble over her and them, sometimes, you will do
well to maintain the pious pretence that she lightens your work by
assisting in tucking in the covers, and in gathering up soiled
articles of clothing and putting them in the clothes-bag or hamper.
She will soon learn to dust chair-rungs and legs, and to wipe off the
base-board,--and do it more conscientiously than hireling Abigail. She
may pick bits of thread, string and paper from the carpet, and clean
door-handles and window-sills. One mother, when making pies, places
her four-year old daughter in a chair at the far end of the kitchen
table, and gives her a morsel of dough and a tiny pan. The little one
watches the mother and attempts to handle her portion of pastry as
mamma does. After it is kneaded, it is tenderly deposited, oftentimes
a grayish lump, in spite of carefully washed hands (for little hands
will somehow get dirty, try sedulously though you and their owner may
to prevent it), in the small tin, and it is placed in the oven with
the other pies. It serves admirably at a doll's tea-party,