In all the early years learning was ceaseless and unconscious. They grew among such carefully chosen surroundings as made it impossible not to learn what was really necessary; and to learn it as squirrels learn the trees—by playing and working in them. They learned the simple beginnings of the world's great trades, led by natural interest and desire, gathering by imitation and asked instruction.
I saw nowhere the enforced task; everywhere the eager attention of real interest.
"Are they never taught to apply themselves? To concentrate?" I asked. And for answer she showed me the absorbed, breathless concentration of fresh young minds and busy hands.
"But they soon tire of these things and want to do something else, do they not?"
"Of course. That is natural to childhood. And there is always something else for them to do."
"But they are only doing what they like to do—that is no preparation for a life work surely."
"We find it an excellent preparation for life work. You see, we all work at what we like now. That is one reason we do so much better work."
I had talked on this line before with those who explained the workings of industrial socialism.
"Still, as a matter of education," I urged, "is it not necessary for a child to learn to compel himself to work?"
"Oh, no," they told me; and, to say truth, convincingly showed me. "Children like to work. If any one does not, we know he is sick."