Every child is an animated interrogation point, and they have a right to be, for so they learn. Meet them with loving frankness and you will never need confess that you have lost the confidence of your children. They will turn to you as steel to a magnet, attracted by this loving bond of sympathy and truthfulness. “Mamma, where did I come from?” opens the way, dear mother, for the most beautiful truth you can teach your child, next to its new birth. “But I don’t know how to teach it,” you say; then tell your little one, “that’s a long question, darling, and mamma must think out the simplest way to answer it, and in a few days I will tell you all about it.” Then away to your own room and down on your knees before God, until the subject is divested of every shadow of sin and darkness, and then in this pure light think for your life, and if you cannot formulate your thoughts as you would, hurry at your first leisure to the wisest woman you know in these things and talk with her about it. It is so simple after all, and if told in a matter-of-fact way, with no hesitation or blushing, it will be so received by your child. The simplest way is to teach them that the egg from which the little bird or downy chicken comes, is laid by the mamma bird or hen, and then she sits upon it to keep it warm, while it grows in the shell until it gets too large to stay there longer, when it bursts the bonds and comes out a downy, active little bird or chicken. “In much the same way, my darling, you grew; only instead of your being able to see the little egg, which was your beginning, it was kept warm and snug in a little room in mamma’s body, while you grew from a tiny speck of an egg, so small that you could not see it with the naked eye, into a fat, beautiful, rollicking baby; then you came out through a little door made purposely for it, and was nestled in mamma’s bosom forever after. I think it must be you are kept hidden away while you grow, because mammas are so busy, you might be forgotten if you were in any other nest, and you would get cold and die. As it is, mamma carries you wherever she goes, and whatever she is doing; and you are always nestled snugly and warmly in the little cradle God made purposely for you, and where mamma can feel you moving about as you grow, for you are right under her heart.” It will do them no harm to take them a little into the agony of the birth chamber; they will love and reverence you the more, and feel the closer bond. One dear boy on hearing the story of his birth, throwing his arms about his mother’s neck, while the tears streamed down his cheeks, exclaimed, “Oh, how boys ought to love their mothers.”