"Cause it mates my tomach ache, Ant Rachel!"
And even that child—why do you laugh at her?—didn't she tell the truth? and was not that a capital reason? How many grown people are there who cannot hold their tongues—and, if the truth were told, because it makes their stomach ache! or for some other reason not half so much to the purpose.
They are decided politicians, too. A friend of mine has a boy just able to speak.
"Houyah for Jackson!" said he one day, before his father.
"Why, Charles! why do you hurra for Jackson—I am not a Jackson man."
"Don't tare 'foo aint—I ar!" was the reply.
A leader, of course, for the next generation—of those who are to think for themselves.
Their childish cunning, too, is exquisite. I remember seeing a little boy about four years of age bite his eldest sister's finger in play so as to leave a mark, for which he was chidden by his mother, whereupon he stole away to his sister and put his finger into her mouth, and told her to bite: she refused, he insisted; after a good deal of persuasion, she yielded. "Harder! harder!" whispered he.
At last a mark appeared—a little dent. (You understand French, I hope.)
"Now!" said he, pulling her toward his mother. "Now"—his large eyes sparkling with triumph, and holding up his plump, rosy little finger, and making all sorts of faces—"Now! tum to mother oosef!"