a thing is the first of it."

Then we spoke about the beginning of the table at which we were sitting--I
suppose we chose that to talk about because it was so close to us--how it
was made of wood, and the wood was once a tree; and if it was an oak, that
giant tree must have been long, long ago only a tiny acorn in its pretty
green cup. Each of those children, too, as they sat round the table, had
had a beginning. Have you ever thought of this? There was a time, not so
very long ago, and yet you cannot remember it, when your life had not
begun. And then your birthday came, the first of all the birthdays; that
day when your dear father and mother thanked God for giving you to them to
love and take care of, and everyone at home was so glad because God had
sent a little child to the house; someone who had never been there before.

Just think, you were that little child; only a tiny thing, but as you
opened your baby eyes to the light, and stretched out your little clasping
fingers, your first cry, and every movement of your little body, showed
that you were alive. Then, by-and-by, the nurse said, "Hush, baby is
asleep!" and everyone moved about softly, so as not to wake the little
creature, who had not been there yesterday, the baby whose life had just
begun, the little traveller who had just started on its journey through
time to the great eternity beyond.

But you knew nothing about this; only your mother knew, as she watched you
in your sleep, that one more tiny vessel had been launched upon that stream
which flows on, on, till it meets the ocean which has no shore--the time
which never ends.

I remember, a very long time ago, how fond I used to be of making boats.
Not far from where I lived a real ship was being built, and I used to watch