In this connection it is curious to notice how early the natural bent of a child will show itself. This is especially the case with girls whose mothering propensity comes out at a very tender age. A wistful little maiden who always seemed to want something more than satisfied her more boisterous companions had slid her hand into that of a grown-up friend in whom she had learnt to confide, and who was trying to amuse her by telling her about a litter of puppies which had been born to a retriever called Topsy. Looking down, the lady saw that the child’s face had grown serious even to sadness, which was accounted for by the conversation that followed. “How old is Topsy?” said the little girl. “I think she is four,” was the answer. At once the child’s eyes filled with tears as she sighed, “And I am six and I’m not a mother yet!” [Sidenote: A Boy’s Secrets.] [Sidenote: The Toad.] With boys it will generally be found that, if they have taken to solitary ways, and belong to the class of children who are pathetically different to the rest, they have some bent, some special interest, which they keep carefully to themselves until a really sympathetic friend wins their secret from them. Not infrequently it is a hiding-place inside a bush or in some corner of the garden where rubbish has been thrown and where the small boy has made himself a “house” with pieces of an old packing case and any other oddments that have come to hand. Sometimes it is an animal of which he has found the home and with which he spends most of his spare time. A toad in a hole in a wall was for a long time the secret joy of a very small boy until his little sister confided to him that she had got a toad in a hole close by, which on examination proved to be the same animal which had two outlets to its abode! The boy’s secret being thus discovered all his pleasure was gone, and he at once deserted his pet. [Sidenote: The Very Dead Frogs!] The present writer happened once to pay a visit to some friends who had a little son of about three or four years old. This little fellow used often to disappear in the garden, and was evidently in enjoyment of some secret which he was too shy to impart to anyone. After a few days his confidence was gained, and he led off his new friend to a spot where there was a muddy little pool about two feet in diameter. On the edge of this were two frogs which he had found dead, and had brought here hoping that they would revive. They had been dead for some time and were anything but sweet, but he stroked them and looked up in the most wistful way to see whether his pets were properly appreciated. It was really pathetic to see his eyes fill with tears when he was told that they were quite, _quite_ dead, and must be buried without further delay. Sometimes, of course, the pathos in a child is accounted for by some physical infirmity which separates him or her from the rest. Here is an instance. [Sidenote: Children and the Painter Man.]