But while the rule made us say “Yes, ma’am,” and “No, ma’am,” it did not allow us to say much more. We were told that “Children should be seen and not heard.” It was assumed that what we had to say was of no account. As I was not very handsome when I was young, there was no occasion for me to be either seen or heard. True, we were industriously taught how to talk, yet we had no sooner learned than we were told that we “must not speak unless spoken to.” It is true the conversation of children may not be so very edifying,—but, for that matter, neither is that of grown-up folk. It is quite possible that if children were allowed to talk freely, they might have a part of their nonsense talked out by the time they had matured; and then, too, they might learn much that would improve the conversation of their later life. At any rate, if a child was not meant to talk, his faculties of speech might properly be withheld until a riper age. To take off our hats in the house, to say “Thank you” and “Please” and all such little things, were of course most strictly enjoined. It did not occur to our elders that children were born imitators, or that they could possibly be taught in any other way than by fixed rules. The common moral precepts were always taught by rule. We must obey our parents, and speak the truth. Just why we should do either was not made clear, although the penalty of neglect was ever there. The longer I live, the more I am convinced that children need not be taught to tell the truth. The fact is, parents do not teach them to tell the truth, but to lie. They tell the truth as naturally as they breathe, and it is only the stupidity and brutality of parents and teachers that drive them to tell lies. In high society and low, parents lie to children much oftener than children lie to parents; it would not occur to a child to lie unless someone made him feel the need of doing so.