and most beautiful in life-and such evidence of order! Along one side of the room runs a long, low chest of drawers, each drawer labeled with one child's name. I know the contents by report. Each holds a collection of handwork-a record of continuous effort on the part of the child and consummate skill on the part of the teacher. There was also a little exhibit of handwork on the wall that detracted not at all from the artistic beauty of the room.

"At one end of the room is the handsome, made-to-order case for kindergarten materials. One guesses at the abundance and quality of these, remembering that economy is no object here.

"I was recalled to the children by a leap of the music that fairly brought me to my feet. They were skipping well! You know how they were skipping! like fairies-such lightness of foot! such perfect time, such grace of movement!-changing partners without confusion and with no direction except from the piano, catching the new step as the music changed, and altogether behaving in a way to make one despair. Then the skip changed to a game and that game to another and another. I could scarcely tell howexcept that hands were raised here and there, and by some telegraphic communication with the piano, the thing was accomplished. It was like a little musical drama thruout. A child would raise his hand and the circle would be filled with little hopping birds, who would presently spread their wings and fly away, buoyantly, noiselessly, returning again in perfect obedience to the music. Then, almost without a pause, these birds would become 'brawny blacksmiths' with their 'cling, clang, cling!' Then the farmer would appear with his long chain of activities.

"These little acting games were played most rhythmically and with unusual command of both voice and limb.

"I observed that the director was a master of the art of expression thru the body. (Indeed, each of these teachers is an artist in her own special line, which accounts for the bird-like voices, the exquisite handwork, and all the rest.) If there was a suggestion of Delsarte about it all, I could not criticise. These results stood for too much serious and splendid work for that, and I believe if I were responsible for a little child I should consider it a great, good thing for him to be there. And yet, I wondered, I don't know why, whether these children really knew what they were playing, and it came to me with a sense of pity that they

would never be nearer than this to these giant activities of the world. Their little white hands would never handle a 'realer' hoe than they held this morning. And then there came to my mind a picture of my grotesque little Tommy fairly blinding us with the sparks from his imaginary anvil; and after him came a train of uncouth scenes out of my children's plays, whose uncouthnesses harrow my feelings daily, but whose vivacity and genuineness are the very breath of life to me. I was absolutely absorbed again when I heard the young mother say to the old gentleman, 'Isn't it charming?' I glanced at him and saw that he was not looking at the circle of children at all, but was watching a little boy, who had been removed from the circle because he wouldn't skip with a girl, and had been forgotten seemingly. He was standing very straight with his hands in his pockets and a perfectly crimson face. He was trying not to cry. I remembered seeing him at the door giving his mother a bear hug at parting. He was evidently a recent comer.

"But now came a shower of raindrops in the room, and each child pattered away to his chair, only to return again at once, chair in hands, and seat himself where he had stood before.

"Now came the group of teachers, who, with the exception of the director, had been chatting in an alcove, and who, I noticed with a little shock, wore trailing gowns. I remembered they had taken no part in the children's plays. They seated themselves among the children, but first, one of them came rustling to the little boy and seated him, quite innocently I am sure, between two girls, and left him without a word.

"Now, with bowed heads, came a little prayer reverent and beautiful, and then a shower of songs, and interspersed with these such lovely stories from the children - all in line with the present subject-Light'-stories of rainbows and sun and stars; and each little tale was listened to in decorous silence to the end. Now and then a little belated child would enter, step noiselessly to the director and then to her own special teacher for a polite good morning, and then seat himself in silence.

"I wondered why, altho the interest was surely genuine, and everything was done and said with perfect cheerfulness, there was here, as in the games, a lack of freshness of delight-of spontaneous pleasure, and it came to me that this was conventional society, that both these children and their teachers were the

product of it. They were doing the properest thing in the properest way and were happy in it. I longed for a little more exuberance of life and spirits, a little more spontaneity of manner, a little more fullness and color under the transparent skins. The stories were still proceeding when that unfortunate little boy again distinguished himself.

"Suddenly, and without warning, he turned a magnificent somersault in the midst of the company. He got up amidst absolute silence-not reproving, but surprised and perfectly courteous silence and took his seat, again in a crimson glow as he felt all eyes upon him. He put a bold face on and his hands sought his pockets once more, but I knew he would never do that thing again, never could do it again, and somehow I wished he could. and would.

"It was here that the old man and I rose simultaneously. I had decided to make another visit.

"We both paused in the door to see the children take their places at the tables and wait with little, folded hands for the rosewood boxes. I knew what would follow-block-form after blockform, artistic, intellectual, and perfect.

"As we came out upon the steps the old gentleman said to me: 'Can you direct me to another kindergarten in the city?'

"The spirit of mischief or of genuine revolt took possession of me, and I turned from that nursery of art and beauty and led him directly across the street to Marion's.

"There is nothing beautiful in Marion's room except the sunshine-floods of sunshine from the big windows. It isn't even orderly tho it is clean. Marion believes it can't be orderly and be truly the children's room. The children's room it was indeed this morning, and the children in full possession., Marion was out on one of her neighborhood excursions, doubtless looking up some waif who had failed to appear. She has her eye on each one of them all the time.

"I sat down between the old gentleman and the door, obsolutely miserable, taking in, as if I had been a stranger, the glaring prints on the walls-all gifts from the children, brought with joy and maintained with pride, and hanging fancy free just as the children had placed them. And hanging here and there among the pictures were inharmonious bits of work, given in love to

decorate the walls rather than taken home. Even these were ugly. Marion will not even choose colors for the children, because, she says, it would not be really their work.

"The group of children sitting about the tables nearest the door assailed me (as a comrade) with a hubbub of explanations of their work. Each one had a mounting card before him, and they were cutting paper landscapes--landscapes whose variety of feature left the novelty seeker nothing to be desired. Here was a portly householder, whose proportions very nearly exhausted the capacity of the background, resting his hand benevolently upon his home, which he might have put in his pocket. Here were animals. to stock an international zoo. Here were trees with branches growing downward and trees that branched with the symmetry of a telegraph pole, and caterpillars swarmed up these trees (we learned why presently). In another corner of the room another group of children, in a state of seraphic contentment, made sand. pies and other products of the bakery. One urchin had been tempted to taste an exceptionally symmetrical and realistic pie, and was with difficulty ejecting the unsavory mouthful.

"There were frequent excursions between the table and the sandpile, and there were many earnest comments and spirited comparisons. One little fellow at the table shouted that he had made a caterpillar 'hangin' hisself'; and immediately the workers in sand arose as one man and came to see.

"They were all crowded around the table and all talking at once when Marion came in. Her presence was like another window opened toward the sun. She seemed not one whit disturbed by the confusion, nor by the fact that visitors had witnessed it. She came directly to us with cordial welcome and then turned toward the children (who crowded about her) for a word of comment here and of commendation there, or a question or suggestion. Then, leaving them still in confusion, she went to the piano and began playing quietly, looking not at the children but out of the window. The children seemed at first not to heed, but presently got themselves into their chairs one by one, and gathered up their work with some semblance of order into the middle of the table. This was hardly accomplished when some inventive spirit at table No. I declared that the landscape pictures must go on the wall, and there was at once a scramble for the box of pins and a body of zealous decorators busily at work. Marion played

on and on in her untroubled way, and quiet was at length restored. Chaos again threatened, however, when a mite of a girl sped across the room and possessed herself of a big pasteboard box, which proved to be a caterpiller cage, filled with trophies of the chase, and the common property of the kindergarten. Excitement prevailed among the children, but here the old gentleman did the unexpected thing. Putting out his hand with an air of assurance he said: "Let me hold it for you, my dear, while you march." The little girl stared at him a moment in surprise, and then gave it up unhesitatingly. So the day was saved, and we got ourselves and our chairs into some sort of a circle somehow. Then Marion came, but not with rustling skirt and trailing gown, and seated herself among the children.

"How the circle seemed to contract and draw in about her as the children leaned toward her with their eager stories. Here was no decorous attention, such as we had witnessed earlier that day, but six stories all at once, all of which Marion seemed to hear and to respond to with a smile for this one and a question for that, drawing out the shy ones and quieting the boisterous, interesting each in all and all in each, till it seemed to matter greatly to us all that "Jimmie's baby" could walk five steps, and that Tom Hooligan's big brother had bought a black billy-goat, and that Mary was to have shoes ("lace ones") on pay day. The small boy at her right drew his arm thru hers, and the one at her left nestled his head against her, and the baby of all came and got himself onto her knee.

"I was in the seventh heaven, as always, when I see Marion with her children. But as if there was to be no peace to the wicked, there came a flourish of discordant music without, and there at the window was that irrepressible hand-organ man with the inevitable monkey. Empty as a last year's bird's nest was our circle of chairs, and there was Marion at the window, laughing with the best of them. But when the monkey man was gonewho would have done what she did then? She seated herself at the piano and played the monkey man's music (all but the discords) while the children did the monkey act in such a gale of merriment as I have seldom seen, and when we were again in our chairs, where did we go with Marion but into the depths of the Indian jungle where this small monkey swung by his tail in babyhood. We followed him across the sea and thru his many trials