p, for thence our first
ideas of it should arise. The child living in the country will have
gained some notion of what field labor is, having needed only to use
his eyes and his abundant leisure. Every age in life, and especially
his own, desires to create, to imitate, to produce, to manifest power
and activity. Only twice will it be necessary for him to see a garden
cultivated, seed sown, plants reared, beans sprouting, before he will
desire to work in a garden himself.

In accordance with principles already laid down I do not at all oppose
this desire, but encourage it. I share his taste; I work with him, not
for his pleasure, but for my own: at least he thinks so. I become his
assistant gardener; until his arms are strong enough I work the ground
for him. By planting a bean in it, he takes possession of it; and
surely this possession is more sacred and more to be respected than
that assumed by Nunez de Balboa of South America in the name of the
king of Spain, by planting his standard on the shores of the Pacific
Ocean.

He comes every day to water the beans, and rejoices to see them
thriving. I add to his delight by telling him "This belongs to you."
In explaining to him what I mean by "belongs," I make him feel that he
has put into this plot of ground his time, his labor, his care, his
bodily self; that in it is a part of himself which he may claim back
from any one whatever, just as he may draw his own arm back if another
tries to hold it against his will.

One fine morning he comes as usual, running, watering-pot in hand. But
oh, what a sight! What a misfortune! The beans are uprooted, the
garden bed is all in disorder: the place actually no longer knows
itself. What has become of my labor, the sweet reward of all my care
and toil? Who has robbed me of my own? Who has taken my beans away
from me? The little heart swells with the bitterness of its first
feeling of injustice. His eyes overflow with tears; his distress rends
the air with moans and cries. We compassionate his troubles, share his
indignation, make inquiries, sift the matter thoroughly. At last we
find that the gardener has done the deed: we send for him.

But we find that we have reckoned without our host. When the gardener
hears what we are complaining of, he complains more than we.

"What! So it was you, gentlemen, who ruined all my labor! I had
planted some Maltese melons, from seed given me as a great rarity: I
hoped to gi