DECEIVING OUR CHILDREN.
By C. C. Fowler
Of necessity the mother, in nine instances out of ten, forms the character of her children. If a child cannot believe his mother, whom can he trust? Yet so few of us are perfectly truthful to our children in both "spirit" and "letter." Can any motive in deceiving—apparent necessity, convenience, or even a desire to increase pleasure or spare pain—compensate for the injury done a child by loss of perfect faith in his mother? He is sure to discover a deception sooner or later. How often a mother who would warmly resent an insinuation that she is untruthful will say, "There is no more candy for you, Jamie," quieting her conscience with the letter of the decree. Next day when Jamie sees more candy taken from the same box he remembers the "no more candy," but does not realize the force of "for you," and—a little faith in mamma is gone. Or, when baby has a forbidden treasure, mamma says, "Let me look at it, dear;" trustful baby allows mamma to "look," and the prize is placed safe out of reach. It is doubtful if that request will be so readily granted next time. A few days ago upon hearing her mother relate a startling fact, I saw an expression of doubt, instantly suppressed, pass over the mobile face of a bright girl friend. When opportunity offered, she said: "Do you know I would give anything I can think of if mamma had never told me there were fairies and a Santa Claus. Until I was a great girl I believed in those myths, against all ridicule and reason, solely upon faith in her assurances. I shall never forget the shock I received when she lightly told me that 'such ideas were for little girls,' and I was now old enough to 'know better.' I lost then what I can never regain—implicit belief in mamma's word. If she says anything surprising, that horrible doubt of its truth always flashes over me." A lovely mother, one whose life is bound up in her children, said to her eight-year-old daughter: "I would not be a little girl and not believe in elves and fairies for anything; it is one of the greatest delights of being a little girl. Of course there is a Santa Claus." Marjorie's trust was severely taxed last Christmas, but, though she cast troubled glances at mamma, the beautiful cable of perfect trust seemed able to bear the strain. It must snap some day. In most instances, as in this, the motive in such deceptions is purely kindness, the idea that to believe in these creations of fancy adds to a child's enjoyment of them. Even if this notion were true, would the pleasure gained pay for the deception practised?—C. C. Fowler, in Babyhood.