You are
too good for this world. J. Evarts Tracy, host of my happy days on
restful Wahwaskesh! I know of a certain hole in under a shelving
rock upon which the partridge is wont to hatch her young, where
lies a bigger bass than ever you tired out according to the rules
of your beloved sport, and I will have him if I have to charm him
with honeyed words and a bean-pole. And Ainslie shall cook him to
a turn. Make haste then to the feast!
[Illustration: The little ones from Cherry Street.]
Ahead there is light. Even as I write the little ones from Cherry
Street are playing on the grass under my trees. The time is at hand
when we shall bring to them in their slum the things which we must
now bring them to see, and then the slum will be no more. How little
we grasp the meaning of it all. In a report of the Commissioner of
Education I read the other day that of kindergarten children in an
Eastern city who were questioned 63 per cent did not know a robin,
and more than half had not seen a dandelion in its yellow glory.
And yet we complain that our cities are misgoverned! You who think
that the teaching of "civics" in the school covers it all, I am
not speaking to you.
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