Gradually, of course, these queer, childish “articles of belief” faded--melted away in the clearer vision of experience and developing intellect. But they left a something behind them which I should be sorry to be without; and they left too, I think, a certain faculty of penetration into infant inner life, which circumstances have shown themselves kindly in preserving and deepening. I have learnt to feel since that nearly all children have their own odd and original theories of things, though many forget, as life advances, to remember about their own childhood’s beliefs and imaginings. And this is not unnatural, when we take into account the rarity and difficulty of obtaining a child’s full confidence, for uncommunicated, unexpressed thoughts are apt to die away from want of word-clothing. One really learns more about children from the revelations of grown-up men and women who “remember,” and have cherished their remembrances, than from the children of the moment themselves. Still, queer ideas crop out to others sometimes. Not often--if it happened oftener we should be less struck by their oddity, by their grotesque originality. A few which, in some instances, not without difficulty and the exertion of some amount of diplomacy, I have succeeded in extracting--no, that is not the right word for a matter of such fairylike delicacy--in drawing out, as the bee draws the honey from the tiny flowers--occur to me as I write, and may be worth mention. A small boy of my acquaintance, after a fit of extreme penitence for some little offence against his grandmother, whom he was very fond of, added to his “so very sorry,” “never do it again, never, never,” the unintelligible assurance, “I will be always good to you, dear little granny, always; and when you have to go round all the houses, I’ll see that our cook gives you lots and lots of scraps--very nice ones--and nice old boots and shoes, and everything you want. I’ll even”--with a burst of enthusiastic devotion--“I’ll even go round with you my own self.”