Oh! if the world could only stop long enough for one generation of
mothers to be made all right, what a millennium could be begun in thirty
years!
"But, mamma, you are grumbling yourself at me because I grumbled!" says a
quick-witted darling not ten years old. Ah! never shall any weak spot in
our armor escape the keen eyes of these little ones.
"Yes, dear! And I shall grumble at you till I cure you of grumbling.
Grumblers are the only thing in this world that it is right to grumble
at."
"Boys Not Allowed."
It was a conspicuous signboard, at least four feet long, with large black
letters on a white ground: "Boys not allowed." I looked at it for some
moments in a sort of bewildered surprise: I did not quite comprehend the
meaning of the words. At last I understood it. I was waiting in a large
railway station, where many trains connect; and most of the passengers
from the train in which I was were eating dinner in a hotel near by. I was
entirely alone in the car, with the exception of one boy, who was perhaps
eleven years old.
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