little tin barrel on wheels.

His mother said to me: "That is my poor little Louis's wagon. He is
dead. Would you like to have it?"

Then a flood of tenderness filled my heart. I felt that this _thing_
had lost its friend, its master, and that it was suffering. I accepted
the plaything, and overcome with pity I sobbed as I carried it home.
I recall very well that I was too young to realize either the death of
the little boy or the sorrow of his mother. I pitied only that leaden
animal which seemed heart-broken to me as it stood on the mantelpiece
forever idle and bereaved of the master it loved. I remember all this
as if it had happened yesterday, and I am sure that I had no desire
to possess this toy for my own amusement. This is absolutely true, for
when I came home, with my eyes full of tears, I confided the little
horse and barrel to my mother. She has forgotten the whole incident.

The belief that things are endowed with life exists among children,
animals, and simple people.

I have seen children attribute the characteristics of a living being
to a piece of rough wood or to a stone. They brought it handfuls of
grass, and were absolutely sure that the wood or stone had eaten it
when, as a matter of fact, I had carried it off without their noticing
it.

Animals do not differentiate the quality of an action. I have seen
cats scratch at something too hot for them for a long time. In this
act on the part of the animal there is an idea of fighting something
which can yield or perhaps die.