Recollections of my childish delight in rummaging an old trunk—it seems a century ago that I did it—caused me to smile sympathetically at Toddie, to his apparent great delight. “How delightful it is to strike a sympathetic chord in child nature,” thought I; “how quickly the infant eye comprehends the look which precedes the verbal expression of an idea? Dear Toddie! for years we might sit at one table, careless of each other’s words, but the casual mention of one of thy delights has suddenly brought our souls into that sweetest of all human communions—that one which doubtless bound the Master himself to that apostle who was otherwise apparently the weakest among the chosen twelve.” “An awfoo funny chunt” seemed to annihilate suddenly all differences of age, condition and experience between the wee boy and myself, and—— A direful thought struck me. I dashed up stairs and into my room. Yes, he _did_ mean my trunk. _I_ could see nothing funny about it—quite the contrary. The bond of sympathy between my nephew and myself was suddenly broken. Looking at the matter from the comparative distance which a few weeks have placed between that day and this, I can see that I was unable to consider the scene before me with a calm and unprejudiced mind. I am now satisfied that the sudden birth and hasty decease of my sympathy with Toddie were striking instances of human inconsistency. My soul had gone out to his because he loved to rummage in trunks, and because I imagined he loved to see the monument of incongruous material which resulted from such an operation; the scene before me showed clearly that I had rightly divined my nephew’s nature. And yet my selfish instincts hastened to obscure my soul’s vision, and to prevent that joy which should ensue when “faith is lost in full fruition.” [Illustration: AN AMATEUR IN PACKING]