In bitter, bitter oil.
I will not part with one of them for three pice and a half.


As its mind expands, new mysteries of the universe unfold themselves
through the same interpreter. It learns to see through the
hollowness of promises and threats before it knows the words in which
they are framed. With the knowledge of words comes the knowledge of
their use as means of concealing the truth and gaining its little
ends. Then the painful experience of discipline and punishment
reveals the same motherly figure in the new light of a protector and
comforter, and it learns to contrast her with the stern persons whom
she has taught it to call pa-pa and ma-ma. When they refuse anything
on which it has set its childish heart, it knows to whom to go for
sympathy. She will console it and teach little artifices, by which
it may evade or circumvent them. She supplies discipline of another
kind, however, and the yet simple trusting mind of the little
Pantheist lives in terror of papa's red-faced friend with the big
stomach, who eats up ten or twelve little children every day, and of
the Borah with the great box full of black ants, in which he shuts up
naughty boys till the ants pick the flesh from their disobedient
bones. When it goes to the bandstand, it gazes from a safe distance
on the big drum, full of boys and girls who would not let their hair
be combed: it hears their groans at every stroke of the terrible
drumstick. Thus the religious side of the tender nature is
developed, and Ayah is the priestess. Under the same guidance it
will, as it grows older, tread paths of knowledge which its parents
never trod. Whither will they lead it? We know not who never joined
in the familiar chat of Ayahs and servants, but imagination "bodies
forth the forms of things unseen" and shudders. Let us rejoice that