Quite small children often take Death very naturally. A boy of five met two of his older companions at the school door. They said sadly and solemnly: “We have just seen a dead man!” “Well,” said the little philosopher, “that's all right. We've all got to die when our work's done.”
In one of the Buddha stories which I reproduce at the end of this book, the little Hare (who is, I think, a symbol of nervous Individualism) constantly says: “Suppose the Earth were to fall in, what would become of me?”
As an antidote to the ordinary attitude towards death, I commend an episode from a German folk-lore story called “Unlucky John,” which is included in the list of stories recommended at the end of this book.
The following sums up in poetic form some of the material necessary for the wants of a child:
THE CHILD.
The little new soul has come to Earth,
He has taken his staff for the Pilgrim's way.
His sandals are girt on his tender feet,
And he carries his scrip for what gifts he may.
What will you give to him, Fate Divine?