Perhaps, too, our way of playfully calling children little old men and women favours the supposition that they are old people turned young again. ----- I am disposed to think, then, that in this idea of senile shrinkage we have one of the most interesting and convincing examples of a child’s philosophizing, of his impulse to reflect on what he sees and hears about with a view to systematise. Yet the matter requires further observation. Is it thoughtful, intelligent children, who excogitate this idea? Would it be possible to get the child’s own explanation of it before he has completely outgrown it?[51] ----- Footnote 51: Egger quotes a remark of a little girl: “I shall carry Emile (her older brother) when he gets little”. This may, as Egger suggests, have been merely a confusion of the conditional and the future. But the idea about old people’s shrinking cannot be dismissed in this summary way (see Perez, _First Three Years of Childhood_, p. 224). ----- The origin of babies and young animals furnishes the small brain, as we have seen, with much food for speculation. Here the little thinker is not often left to excogitate a theory for himself. His inconvenient questionings in this direction have to be firmly checked, and various and truly wonderful are the ways in which the nurse and the mother are wont to do this. Any fiction is supposed to be good enough for the purpose. Divine action, as remarked above, is commonly called in, the questioner being told that the baby has been sent down from heaven in the arms of an angel and so forth. Fairy stories with their pretty conceits, as that of the child Thumbkin growing out of a flower in Hans Andersen’s book, contribute their suggestions, and so there arises a mass of child-lore about babies in which we can see that the main ideas are supplied by others, though now and again we catch a glimpse of the child’s own contributions. Thus according to Stanley Hall’s report the Boston children said, among other things, that God makes babies in heaven, lets them down or drops them for the women and doctors to catch them, or that he brings them down a wooden ladder backwards and pulls it up again, or that mamma, nurse or doctor goes up and fetches them in a balloon. They are said by some to grow in cabbages or to be placed by God in water, perhaps in the sewer, where they are found by the doctor, who takes them to sick folks that want them. Here we have delicious touches of childish fancy, quaint adaptations of fairy and Bible lore, as in the use of Jacob’s ladder and of the legend of Moses placed among the bulrushes, this last being enriched by the thorough master-stroke of child-genius, the idea of the dark, mysterious, wonder-producing sewer. In spite too of all that others do to impress the traditional notions of the nursery here, we find that a child will now and again think out the whole subject for himself. The little boy C. is not the only one I find