“So you see,” I went on, “we can no more praise ourselves for helping to better the world than we can praise people—except for their good sense and wisdom—when they put up hospitals for contagious diseases, and separate those who suffer from them. Did you ever think of it, that to take care of the weak strengthens the strong? The man who cares for two gets the strength of two.” Florence asked: “What if there were no weak?” A good question, but an unanswerable one, from lack of experience. “It is good,” I went on, “to use our powers, to strengthen them; and we can use them only through others. I have heard people say it is foolish for the strong to spend themselves on the weak. To me that seems untrue.” “Yes,” said Virginia, “what is their strength for, if not to use it!” “Sparta,” I said, “has left no trace but her history, because she cared only for physical strength, and wasted the strength and power that are in weakness.” “I wish she had not left her history,” they said, thinking of the hard names. “Everything leaves history,” sighed Marian. “We can use all men,” I went on, “and every man does something for us that we cannot do for ourselves. The world is like a vast body, in which hand and head do each its part; and the head shall not despise the hand.” “I don’t like to think of it in that way,” said Ruth, “to think of different people as different parts of the body, for some would have to be way down at the foot.” “Oh, Ruth,” I answered, “I believe you are despising the foot! That is because you don’t think well enough of the body. But Florence knows better. She probably thinks her feet the most important part of all. When I spoke of the body, I meant that each part was equally necessary to all the others. But I suppose each one of us here would like to think of himself as a brain-cell.” “We like to flatter ourselves,” said Henry. I spoke to them of the modern trend in judging crime and meting punishment. Henry already understood this. We spoke of “homes” instead of prisons, of treating the bad as abortive and undeveloped, as moral idiots and invalids, and of using for our good and their happiness all the powers they possessed. We would hate badness, but not the bad man. How could we? Each one acts according to his desires, and in that sense selfishly; and our character depends on how large we are, how much we desire. The man who wants to be richer than his neighbor will act otherwise than the man who wants to share and enjoy the riches and happiness of all his neighbors, and make the whole world his home. Our desires are the measure of our growth. And some are more developed than others. “Some are so undeveloped,” said Virginia, “that they seem almost like animals.” “I wondered why Virginia hadn’t mentioned that sooner,” said Marian. We went on to the next law, that art must give the impression of truth. How does it apply? I said they must see that the telling of truth was not the whole of true relation.