“Well, they went off without a word, each carrying its toy, and Mr. Carpenter told me his ideas about education, and how well they worked. Suddenly we heard shrieks from behind the wood-pile where the children were playing. We ran out to see what was the matter. Nelly had got a handkerchief tied over the head of her hammer, and she was cuddling it to sleep in her arms. Johnny had got some of the nails and was trying to drive them into a piece of wood with the head of the doll for hammer. Nelly was screaming because he was killing poor Dolly.” Ezra laughed, and Olive joined in at the recollection of the scene. “You cannot think how disappointed Mr. Carpenter looked. His wife said he’d got something to do if he was expecting to cure little girls of dolls in a hurry. We changed the presents and left him to reconcile it with his theories as best he could; both children were quite happy and contented afterwards.” “Poor Carpenter! He’ll have to learn by bitter experience that he cannot change human nature all at once,” said Ezra, sympathetically. “I fear children are still in the savage stage of development, they are not communists.” “Nobody is communist about things they care very much about,” said Olive, in desperate courage. “Why, Ollie! What a thing to say! I am a thorough-going communist I hope. I’d give the coat off my back without a pang.” “Of course you would, because it is a horrid old thing any way, and men look frights in coats always. Men don’t care about clothes, only just to cover themselves and keep themselves warm. One rag would do as well as another.” “You are an incorrigible little individualist and a greedy one as well, I do declare,” said Ezra, half laughing at her vehemence. “No, it’s not that, only I see what is what,” replied Olive oracularly. “And what might that be?” “The Pioneers are only communistic for rubbish and rags, and not for dolls and hammers. That’s what they are,” said Olive, with her face aflame. “Rubbish and rags! What an absurd thing to say. Who ever heard such nonsense?” said Ezra, loftily ignoring his wife’s argument in a way that wise men often affect. “’Tisn’t nonsense,” said Olive hotly. “It is just what people say of Perfection City.” “What people say it?” asked Ezra. “Well, Mr. Perseus for one,” said Olive, repenting of her daring in getting into the subject at all. “Mr. Perseus,” repeated Ezra with a sudden frown, “so you talk over our principles with him. When did you do so last?”