But neither the babies nor the blossoms can flourish there. They pine and droop and die together. True, some of them live—babies and blossoms—but how?
You are a woman and you love children and flowers. Tell me, did not the pale, sickly children and the pale, sickly plants impress you as even more saddening than the dead plants—the constant reminders of dead children?
Their slow, prolonged dying is more terrible than death to me. And I love them both, children and flowers.
I honor your tears. They proclaim you to be possessed of a human heart. But you are a misfit in your sphere. Your place is in our world.
You mean well, but your guild is only a toy. The problem is not to be solved so easily. If you would help solve it, you must give something more than plants. You must give yourself.
And this is the work which calls for your service and sacrifice:—
To bring blossoms and babies together where both can thrive. To restore the child-sense of kinship with Nature, that to every child may come the joy of understanding Nature’s eternal harmonies. To bring the freedom and beauty and companionship of beast and bird, flower and tree, mountain and ocean, stream and star, into the life of every child.
A LITTLE FISHERMAN
“Fresh Air Fund” child from a crowded tenement district.
It is a big task, madam; flower shows and ribbons and tears will not fulfil it. If you are serious, you will find more serviceable things to do.