“What a jolly little home he’s made for himself!” said Martha. “All soft and moist, and just exactly to fit him.”
“He can’t see out much,” said Betty as she put back the moss gently over the top.
“I don’t think he wants to,” said Miss Grey. “He is quite satisfied, like many other people who live in holes.”
The children ran on through the wood, except Betty, who kept back and took hold of Miss Grey’s hand.
“What do you mean about living in holes?” she asked presently.
“Well, you know, we all live in holes of one kind or another. Some are rough and some smooth, some fit us exactly, and some don’t fit us at all. Some are softly-lined with all sorts of comforts, and some are full of pricks and troubles. And it is always very difficult to see out of them.”
“Why?” asked Betty.
“Because, like the toad’s hole we saw just now, our own lives are so near us and surround us so closely, that it is only by making an effort that we can get out of them and understand other people’s lives at all. The only thing that can really make us do that is sympathy.”
“What does that mean?”
“It is that which makes us able to put ourselves in thought into other people’s holes, and feel what it is like to live there. When we do that it makes us remember to be patient and gentle with our friends and companions, for if they live in uncomfortable holes it must be difficult for them to be unselfish and amiable. If we had their troubles and vexations we might not be half so pleasant as they are.”