“Yes, unless they’re really of more value than human life and human character,” Tom replied. “You indicated the proper starting point in your last remark; if you’ll study that for yourself, you’ll learn a great deal more than I can tell you, and learn it more pleasantly too.”
“I don’t care to study,” said Mrs. Burton, “when I can get my information at second-hand.”
“Go on, Tom,” said Mr. Burton, “Continue to appear in your character of the ‘Parental Encyclopædist’; we’ll try to stop one ear so that what goes in at the other shall not be lost.”
“I only want to say that the plans and good times spoiled by the children are what ruin every promising generation. The child should be taught, but instead of that he is only restrained. He should be encouraged to learn the meaning and the essence of whatever of the inevitable is forced upon him from year to year; but he soon learns that children’s questions are as unwelcome as tax-collectors or lightning-rod men. It’s astonishing how few hints are necessary to give a child the habit of retiring into himself, and from there to such company as he can find to tolerate him.”
“You needn’t fear for your boys, Tom,” said Mr. Burton. “I’d pay handsomely for the discovery of a single question which they have ever wanted to ask but refrained from putting.”
“And what myriads of them they can ask—not that there’s anything wrong about it, the little darlings,” Mrs. Burton added.
“I am glad of it,” said Tom; “but I hope they’ll never again have to go to any one but their mother and me for information.”
“Tom, there you go again!” said Mrs. Burton. “Please don’t believe I ever refused them an answer or answered unkindly.”
“Certainly you haven’t,” said Tom. “Excuse a stale quotation—’the exception proves the rule.’s I’ve really been nervously anxious about the soundness of this rule, until you were brought into the family, for I never knew another exception.”
“May I humbly suggest that a certain brother-in-law existed before the boys had an Aunt Alice?” asked Mr. Burton.