INTELLECTUAL GROWTH  
                           IN YOUNG CHILDREN  
                                    
                                    
                                  BY  
                                     
                                    
                                    
                             SUSAN ISAACS  
           C.B.E., M.A., D.Sc. (Vict.), Hon.D.Sc. (Adelaide)  
                     Author of "The Nursery Years", 
                      "Childhood and After", etc.  
                                     
                                     
                                     
                                    
                                    
                           WITH AN INDEX ON  
                      CHILDREN'S "WHY" QUESTIONS  
                                  By  
                             NATHAN ISSACS  
                                     
                                     
                                     
                                     
                                     
                                     
                                     
                                     
                                     
                                     
                                     
                                LONDON  
                       ROUTLEDGE & KEGAN PAUL LTD 
               BROADWAY HOUSE:  68-74 CARTER LANE, E.C.4  
              






       TABLE OF CONTENTS  
  
CHAPTER                                                           PAGE 

PREFACE                                                     ix  
 
  I. INTRODUCTION  
      a. The VALUE OF QUALITATIVE RECORDS OF  
         CHILDREN'S BEHAVIOR                                 1  
      b. THE NATURE OF THESE RECORDS                         7  
  
 II. THE  EDUCATIONAL TECHNIQUE AND  
         CONDITIONS OF OBSERVATION  
      a. THE CHILDREN AND STAFF                             14 
      b. THE SCHOOL                                         14 
      c. THE EQUIPMENT                                      15  
      d. THE EDUCATIONAL AIMS                               17  
      e. THE ACTUAL Technique  
         1. Limits and negative conditions of free  
            activity                                        23  
         2. Positive stimuli                                33  
  
III. DISCOVERY, REASONING, AND THOUGHT:  
         THEORETICAL ANALYSIS  
      a. INTRODUCTION                                       49  
      b. THE RELATION BETWEEN MATURATION AND  
         EXPERIENCE:                                        57  
         1. General aspects of the problem                  58  
         2. Piaget's studies of the "structure" of  
            mental life in children                         73  
         3. Interpretations of the present material, 
            and criticisms of Piaget                        78  
      c. THE RELATION BETWEEN THOUGHT AND  
         PHANTASY                                           97  

IV. DISCOVERY, REASONING, AND THOUGHT:  
          RECORDS  
        I. APPLICATIONS OF KNOWLEDGE  
           A. 1. Formal and theoretical application        111 
              2. Imaginative and hypothetical appli-  
                 cation                                    113 
              3. Make-believe and dramatised know-  
                 ledge                                     117 
              4. Comparisons and analogies                 120 
           B.    Practical insight and resource            120 
       II. INCREASE OF KNOWLEDGE:  PROBLEMS  
           AND EXPERIMENT, OBSERVATION AND  
           DISCOVERY                                       125  
      III. SOCIAL INTERCHANGE OF KNOWLEDGE  
         A. Reasoning; "why's" and "because's"  
             and other logical interests                   145  
         B. Discussions: corrections and self-corrections  151  
       IV. MISCELLANEOUS                                   155  
   V. BIOLOGICAL INTERESTS: GENERAL  
          ASPECTS OF THE PROBLEM                           158  
  VI. BIOLOGICAL INTERESTS: RECORDS  
       l. INTEREST IN PLANTS                               171  
      II. INTEREST IN ANIMALS                              178  
 VII. FOUR SAMPLE WEEKS                                    214  
VIII. SUMMARY OF ACTIVITIES                                258  
APPENDIX:  
   A. CHILDREN'S "WHY" QUESTIONS, by Nathan                291
      Issacs1  
   B. EDUCATION AND SCIENCE, by Nathan Issacs              350
   C. FURTHER EXAMPLES OF THOUGHT AND  
        REASONING:  
       a. From later history of James and Denis            335  
       b. From two children not in the school-Rose  
         and Ursula                                        357  
INDEX OF NAMES                                             367  
INDEX OF SUBJECTS                                          368
  
   1 See p. 291 for detailed Table of Contents.  




                       PREFACE  
  
THIS volume is based upon the records of work carried on at  
The Malting House School for young children, at Cambridge, 
in the years from October, 1924, to Christmas, 1927.  
   Very few detailed and strictly psychological records of the  
behaviour of a group of young children, over long periods and  
under relatively free conditions, are so far available. There  
is little in this direction to be compared with the admirable  
studies of individual development which have been made from  
time to time by various psychologists, and which are in  
everyone's library. Yet such records would seem to be  
indispensable material, not only for an adequate social  
psychology, but also for the understanding of intellectual  
growth. The importance of "inter-subjective intercourse"  
was, of course, brought out long ago by G. F. Stout.1 
   The data gathered from our group of children do in fact  
throw light upon both the intellectual and the social aspects  
of mental development. I had originally intended to deal  
with the two aspects, and their effect upon each other, in one  
book. In the end, however, it became clear that this would  
result in too large and unwieldy a volume; and that if I  
divided the material, I should have more room for adequate  
theoretical discussion. But I shall feel this to have been an  
error if it gives rise to the impression that I think the two  
problems can be fully understood apart; or if the picture I  
have drawn of the school here, in describing the educational  
technique, should lead anyone to feel that we neglected the  
emotional and imaginative development of the children in  
favour of the factual and scientific.  For the purposes of this  
first volume, I have picked out those aspects of the school life  
and of the methods used which are particularly relevant to the  
theoretical problems discussed under the topic of discovery, 
reasoning and thought.  But in fact, the children lived a  
whole and complete life, in which the processes taken up and  
studied here were but one thread among many. They  
1 Groundwork of Psychology, 1903.  
  

                            PREFACE  

played and sang and laughed and danced and made things, 
just like any other children under happy conditions.   
   The second volume on Social Development in Young Children  
is to follow this one at (it is hoped) aa interval of a few months.   
In it I shall try to fill up the gaps and to correct any false  
impression of the school to which the concentration upon  
intellectual problems here might give rise.  And in order to  
heal still further the seeming breach in the living growth of  
the real children whose minds are studied in these partial  
aspects, a third volume will follow a little later, consisting of 
Individual Histories, and taking the reader through the whole  
development of certain children during the three years of the  
records.   
   Even within the field of intellectual growth, it was not, of  
course, possible to deal with every aspect in a single volume.   
Some selection of particular threads of development had to be  
made.  The psychological themes chosen have been selected  
on particular grounds.  The problems covered under the  
heading of discovery, reasoning and thought were picked out  
because of their intrinsic theoretical importance in genetic  
psychology at present.  Their bearing upon the conclusions  
of Piaget, for instance, whose work is among the most  
significant being carried out at this date, is brought out in  
the theoretical discussion of the material.  The biological  
interests of young children were dealt with because of the  
freshness of our experience in this field, and the light our  
observations had to throw upon relevant educational  
technique.   
   In the second book, I shall present material illustrating  
those particular facts of social development which are  
commonly neglected, blurred over, or actually denied by  
those who theorise about young children, in spite of their  
fundamental genetic importance.   
  I have to express my deep gratitude: to Geoffrey N. Pyke  
and Margaret Pyke, to whose public vision and disinterested  
service in founding and maintaining the school, and in bearing  
the full financial burden, the whole of this work owes its  
existence; to Geoffrey N. Pyke, also, for many fruitful sugges-  
tions and stimulating discussions as to the theory and practice 
of the school; to Professor Cyril Burt, who very kindly read several 
of the chapters and made many important details criticisms  
and suggestions; to Miss Ella Sharpe, Miss M. N. Searl and Miss 
Evelyn Lawrence, who were also good enough to read parts  
of the book and make a number of most valuable comments; to  
my colleagues on the staff of the school, to whose help I owe  
a great deal; to the parents of the children, whose friendship and  
loyalty carried the work through its experimental phases; to  
the parents who have kindly kept the detailed observations  
quoted in Appendix C, and allowed me to use them; but  
above all, to my husband; it is to his abundant and original  
insight and his patient critical acumen that the theoretical  
part of the book owes most of whatever value it may have.   
In particular, I owe to him the suggestion of the scheme  
of classification of the material of discovery, reasoning and  
thought.  Acknowledgments are also due to: the Editor of  
Nature, for permission to reprint the article on Education and  
Science; and the Editor of The Forum of Education, for The  
Biological Interests of Young Children (expanded here).   

                                              SUSAN ISSACS.   

  
  
  
                        CHAPTER  ONE  
  
                        INTRODUCTION  
  
a.  The value of qualitative records of children's behaviour.  
The intention of this book is in large part psychological, 
rather than educational.  In the section on biological interests  
this emphasis is somewhat changed, the material there being  
offered as a direct contribution to educational technique, as  
well as to certain aspects of child psychology.  But even  
there, it is clear that any judgment as to the educational value  
of the method followed must in the end rest upon the sound-  
ness or otherwise of the psychological basis; and it is the data 
bearing upon this to which I chiefly wish to draw attention.  
   The actual work with the children was of course educa-
tional; the material was gathered in a school, not in a  
laboratory.  But the records themselves are direct and dis-  
passionate observations, recorded as fully as possible under  
the conditions; and as free as possible from evaluations and  
interpretations.  
   Ideally, no interpretations should appear in the records.  
Vague evaluatory or summarising phrases, such as "the  
children were very interested-polite-quarrelsome" are  
better avoided.  Only full verbatim records of what was said, 
and full objective records of what was done should be given.  
   In the later history of the school, in 1927-8, it was found  
possible to take strictly verbatim and objective records of  
this type, practically complete.  That can however only be  
done if the recording of events is in the hands of skilled and  
informed shorthand typists who devote the whole of their  
time and attention to this alone.  If the records are kept by  
the teaching staff, they are necessarily more summary and  
fragmentary.  The observations (1924-7) offered here are  
taken from records written down by the educational staff in  
notebooks constantly carried about, at moments snatched from  
doing things actively with the children.  We noted things as 
fully as we could at the actual moment, and then dictated a  
fuller record from these notes, on the same day.  
   I have offered my own deductions and theoretical views, 
as well as some of the actual observations on which they are  
based; but I have kept these two things apart as far as  
possible.  My wish is that readers should be able to turn  
freely to the records for their own theoretical purposes, and  
that there should therefore be the minimum of theoretical  
selection in presenting them.  
  The selection of instances to illustrate or demonstrate a  
particular psychological generalisation, in the customary text-  
book style, commonly means that the reader sees the material  
on which the generalisation is based, only at the remove of the  
writer's judgment.  The act of selection is itself an act of judg-
ment, and one which, if it is implicit, leaves the reader without 
redress.  It may be (at its worst) that contrary instances are  
overlooked, or their importance minimised; it may be (and  
often is) that the general context of any piece of behaviour  
might, if given, put a different colour upon things; it may  
be that in order to evaluate properly the genetic significance  
of even a well-established particular group of facts, their total 
setting in the general activities of the children concerned needs 
to be known.  If the initial act of selection on the part of the 
writer does not come fully into the open, the reader cannot  
tell whether any distortion arises from it, how great that  
is, and in what direction it goes.  A surprising amount of  
psychological theorising has been supported by the unavowed  
selection of facts.  One might instance the various discussions 
 of the "herd instinct", or, for that matter, of instinct in  
general; and one might perhaps attribute to the operation  
of this tendency the deep gulfs which still divide the schools  
of psychological thought.  
   Moreover, things sometimes cut the other way.  We some-  
times take a lazy refuge in the possibility that those who offer 
a new theory to us, with the selected data upon which it  
rests, may have chosen their data subjectively.  We refuse to  
make further active inquiry into the theory, and try to brush  
the facts aside on the supposed ground of their subjectivity.  
This is, for instance, what many people let themselves do  
with regard to Freud's theory of infantile sexuality.  This  
tendency does almost as much to hold up theoretical progress  
as actually overlooking the factor of selection. 
   Even where the data under discussion are experimental and  
open to statistical presentation, the difficulty of selection is  
not to be ignored.  At its best, the statistical mode of pre-  
senting facts gives them to the reader with minimal refraction.  
Being concerned more with "how much" than with an  
unqualified "what", the statistical method is safeguarded  
against the grosser modes of prejudicing opinion.  The needed  
reserves and correctives are given in the form of statement  
itself (curve of distribution, correlation coefficient, etc.), and  
the reader is able to compare the explicit conclusions of the  
writer with their supposed basis in the full data so usably  
presented.  But this adequacy of statement must not be  
allowed to blind us to the fact that behind the statistical  
presentation and behind the experimental work, there does  
lie an initial act of selection.  The choice of the unit 
events for measurement has to be made; and that is primarily  
a function of qualitative perception.  As F. C. Bartlett has  
expressed it, the experimental psychologist "is as much  
clinician as experimenter". 1 
   Experimental studies necessarily work upon a narrow front.  
It is this limitation of their field of inquiry which makes them  
so fruitful of verifiable results; but it carries, of course, 
its own dangers.  By looking for particular answers to particular  
questions, we run the risk of missing other perhaps more  
significant facts which might transform our problem and make  
our previous questions idle.  The inter-relations of our 
different particular questions have to be looked for, and the attempt  
to find the connecting threads between the partial reports of 
experimental method often discloses new and more funda-  
mental problems.  The last word has to come from the survey  
of larger wholes.  
   F. C. Bartlett has recently brought out some aspects of this  
with regard to the long series of experimental investigations  
of memory on the lines initiated by Ebbinghaus.    There  
is . . . . the exaggerated respect for the stimulus or the  
situation.  The psychologist is studying the complex responses  
of a highly developed organism and how they are determined.  
They have been called forth to meet the demands of a very  
unstable and varying objective environment.  But if the  
environment is violently simplified it is mere superstition to  
trust that they also get simplified in a corresponding manner.  

1 Nature.  Aug. 31. 1929.  

They become different, but are just as likely to become yet  
more highly complex.   Stability of determination, not sim-  
plicity of structure in objective determining factors, is what  
we need to make our experiments convincing.  Stability of  
determination is compatible with complexity, and even with  
considerable variation of objective determinants.  Somehow  
an experimental method has to be developed which recognises  
these facts." 1
   Another recent instance, which appears to approximate to  
the Ebbinghaus error, is that of Piaget's inquiry into children's
"whys" and their interest in physical causality, by means  
of their "spontaneous" questions "in the course of daily  
talks lasting two hours; each talk was a sort of lesson by  
conversation, but of a very free character, during which the  
child was allowed to say anything he liked ".2  I have else-  
where drawn attention to possible criticisms of this inquiry;3  
but the point has been well expressed by "Two Parents",  
in their paper on The Scientific Interests of a Boy in Pre-  
school Years.4  They suggest that "Problems arising during  
conversations, even of this free character, are not . . . . so  
likely to demand causal explanation as those which arise 
during activities which bring the child into direct and intimate 
contact with material things.  Our diary extracts show very  
clearly that activities are much more effective than conversa-  
tions in provoking problems".  Contrary to Piaget, they  
found "many questions which seem clearly to demand causal  
explanation, and this fact is confirmed by the very strong  
interest shown in inanimate physical objects.  The explanation  
lies in the very different conditions under which the questions  
were provoked".  This issue will be developed further in  
a later chapter.  
   A further indirect but very important effect of the selective  
action of particular experiment, or of some given classification 
of raw material, is that it automatically tends to inhibit other 
ways of approaching the problem or of handling the data.  
The grouping of material divides as well as unites.  We bring  
a and b together into ab; and c and d are built into cd.  
But it may be that the relations between b and c, or between  

1 Op. cit.  
2 J. Piaget:  The Language and Thought of the Child, p. 163.  
3 Journal of Genetic Psychology, XXXVI, 4, and Mind, XXXVIII 
(N.S.), 152.  
4 Forum of Education, VI, 1. 1928.

a and d, are in fact more significant and penetrating; and 
ab and cd divert us from bc and ad, and blur their structure.  
As an example: if we bring together all the incidents in the  
behaviour of a group of children which can be classified as  
instances of reasoning or thought, and gather together for  
direct study in another pigeon hole, all the incidents of their  
phantasy life, it may be that we do discover important  
relations within each set of phenomena, and carry our under-  
standing of each much further.  But it may also be that by  
tearing them apart into these two groups, we hide still more  
significant relations between the phantasy life and the life of  
directed thought.  It may be that the study of the ways in  
which the latter is related to the former is at least as significant  
genetically as the facts which are laid bare by the direct  
examination of the series of levels in the development of  
reasoning itself.  Even the attempt to deal with intellectual  
growth and social relations as separate phenomena may  
obscure significant aspects of the mental life as a whole.  
The general conviction that this has been happening to us  
in psychological thought is gaining ground, and interest in  
the ways in which intelligence operates in its concrete setting  
is growing.  The later sections of this book will emphasise  
the importance of watching the child's intelligence actually  
at work in his everyday practical and social relations.  
   All these considerations point to the desirability of making   
available the full concrete records of all the manifold activities  
of a group of children, as a background and corrective for 
any single threads of investigation or theorising.  
   A further argument in its favour arises from the growing  
tendency to summarise development in a series of rating  
scales.1   The setting up of sound rating scales is valuable in  
many directions.  It will not only provide norms for indi-  
vidual development, with far-reaching effects on educational  
standards and technique.  It will also suggest significant inter-  
relations of psychological processes, by showing which aspects  
of development tend to hang together, and outlining the  
changing picture of their inter-relations at succeeding ages  
(in the way intelligence tests have done for certain aspects  
intellectual development).  But it can never be allowed  

1 Cf. A. Gesell, Mental Growth of the Pre-School Child, 1928.  Or 
R. Andrus, An Inventory of the Habits of Children from Two to 
Five Years of Age.  1928.  Teachers' College, Columbia University. 

to take the place of a direct examination of the full concrete  
behaviour of children.  The actual choice of the items in the  
rating scale is again an act of qualitative perception, and  
systematic scrutiny of the actual events from the psychological 
point of view (not the ethical or educational) is an essential  
preliminary.  It would be quite sterile to substitute premature  
quantitative treatment for detailed and concrete study of indi- 
vidual psychological events and their concrete inter-relations --   
especially if the rating scale were set up with an educational  
or moral bias, which apparently tends to be the case.  The  
rate of change in children towards behaviour which is con-  
sidered desirable is not more significant psychologically than  
the actual behaviour which they do show at any particular  
stage.  For instance, it is surely at least as important to  
investigate the concrete situations which give rise in particular 
children to aggressiveness or defiance, as it is to estimate the 
degree of their social adaptiveness at a given age, on a  
conventional scale.  
   The work of science proper may only begin when we can  
begin measuring; but to be fruitful, measurement must rest  
upon close preliminary scrutiny of the material to be measured.  
Nor can it ever be a substitute for hard thinking.  The vast  
bulk of barren experiment which has clogged the growth  
of psychology took origin in the confusion which treated  
measurement as sufficient unto itself.  
   Watching the spontaneous cognitive behaviour of a group  
of children under conditions designed to further free inquiry  
and free discussion may, therefore, reveal facts which would
scarcely yield to the direct assault of test or experiment -- at  
least so far as their technique is at present developed.  The  
child's response to a particular question set by us is one thing; 
whether or not the question would ever have framed itself  
spontaneously in his mind, is another; and in what form the  
general problem which our question crystallised does in fact  
hold his interest, if at all, is a third.  It does not even follow  
that because a child has asked a certain kind of question we  
are entitled to give it the same psychological value when  
we ask the question of him or of another child.  Without  
therefore under-valuing the fundamental importance both for  
diagnostic and theoretical purposes of the exact data yielded  
by mental testing and experiment, one can see it to be at  
least possible that as much concrete psychological process  
may escape their net as is caught within it and that this  
may be the more vital and genetically significant part.  
   All these would be reasons for offering my data complete  
and unselected and it is in fact hoped that it may be possible  
to make the fuller and more objective records of the year  
1927-28 available as a whole.  Meanwhile, in offering here some  
selections from my own more fragmentary records, relating to
certain aspects of the children's behaviour, I have come as  
near to the desideratum as circumstances allow.  The data  
given have not been selected to illustrate any particular theory,  
but rather to illuminate certain broad general topics which  
must have their important place in any genetic psychology.  
On the same grounds, they have been arranged in purely  
descriptive grouping, which aims at preserving the concrete  
continuity of the children's behaviour.  Moreover, I have  
tried to fill in a little further the needed background for these  
selections, by adding (a) a summarised account of the general  
activities of the group during the three years, and (b) a  
much fuller record of four sample weeks.   These  two  
chapters may help to keep the right psychological perspective  
for the material given to illustrate particular psychological  
themes.  
   The total data thus brought together may then perhaps  
serve as a useful general background for any particular series  
of experiments into the genetic history of intellectual develop-  
ment within the ages covered, and a possible source of hints  
for further detailed investigation.  
  
b.  The nature of these records.  What, then, are the records  
offered in this volume?  They do not aim at a picture of  
what children "ought" to be; nor of children as seen from  
the angle of how near they have got to what we want them  
to be.  Nevertheless they are not offered as showing what  
children are "by nature".  In my preface, I spoke of group  
behaviour "under relatively free conditions".  It might  
perhaps be thought from this that the records purported to  
be those of the natural ways of children as self-expressed  
when freed from the pressure of adult control, and that it was  
held that a simple unfolding of instincts and "natural"  
impulses and interests would thus be revealed.  
   Now there is a certain amount of truth in such a view.  The    
fact, for example, that the children in this group were not 
checked and scolded for the free verbal expression of their  
opinions, or their feelings towards each other, did yield a far  
richer crop of evidence as to what these opinions and feelings  
were, than could be gained under ordinary conditions.  The  
fact that they were free to express their phantasies in dramatic  
play, or in constructive work with whatever material they  
wished, did make clear some of the spontaneous forms and  
modes of development of their imaginative and intellectual  
life.  
   But there would be more falsehood than truth in the notion  
that we were, under these conditions, able to observe the  
"natural" ways of children, if this were taken in too naive  
a sense.  The simple point of view of the natural historian  
in genetic psychology, which looks for native phases of mental  
development in the child, linked with stages in development of  
bodily structure and function, may have had its value.  But  
as our understanding of the function of instinct in man has  
deepened, we have given up the notion of finding any con-  
siderable behaviour in children as old as two and a half  
years which is "purely" instinctive and uncomplicated by  
experience.  And as our detailed knowledge of the particular  
instincts and their interplay with each other and with the  
environment in the earliest years has grown we have come  
to realise that most of the behaviour of children even in these  
years will be highly complex in its sources and springs.  It  
will, for instance, always have some reference, implicit or  
explicit, to what adults expect -- or to what children imagine  
that adults expect.  
   Even when an adult is not present, the behaviour of children  
in spontaneous play will have some inherent reference to the  
parental images.  It will be coloured by the complex loves  
and hates and anxieties felt towards the parents.  And an  
adult who is there with the children cannot divest himself  
of his parental authority by an act of his own will, and create  
conditions so "free" that they rule out his prestige as an
adult.  It is not what we are to ourselves and in our own  
intention that matters; but what the children make of us.  
Our real behaviour to them, and the actual conditions we  
create, are always for them set in the matrix of their own  
phantasies.  And what they do make of us in the years from  
two onwards is in large part a function of the already highly  
complex interplay of infantile love and hate impulses, and  
anxiety reactions towards these.  The intensive study of  
instinct and phantasy in individual children by the technique  
of psychoanalysis has shown that, even at this early age,  
guilt and anxiety and love invest any adult who has an  
active relation with the children with a prestige which he  
cannot escape.  Whether he will or no, he is drawn into the  
ambit of the child's intra-psychical conflict.  The child's world  
is a dramatic world, and the non-interference of the adult is  
interpreted in dramatic terms.  The adult who does not inter-  
fere cannot be for the child himself a neutral observer-he is  
a passive parent.  And if the parent is passive, one of two  
things happens; either the child believes that the grown-up  
condones what he is doing, or he suffers internally from the  
tension of guilt which fails to find relief in his being told  
what he must not do, a tension which issues sooner or later  
in actions aimed at provoking anger and punishment.  In  
my second volume, dealing with the social development of  
children, I shall bring forward evidence to support this view,  
and shall develop it in ample detail.  
   It has sometimes been suggested that the psychologist among  
children should conceive his work as that of an anthropologist  
among a primitive people, watching but not entering into the  
life he observes.  But the situation is scarcely parallel.  The  
anthropologist among savages, provided he is a skilled field  
worker, may with luck be able to watch without having any  
effect on the course of events; since he is himself a minimal  
stimulus to those who are behaving before him, so slight as not  
to rise above the threshold.  As against the strongly organised  
and adult social life he is observing, with a whole culture  
behind it, he may be of no account.  But with young children,  
no adult can under ordinary circumstances be a minimal
stimulus in this way.   The children are psychologically  
orientated towards him as adult.  Their world hangs upon  
him, and his slightest sign is full of meaning.  
   Only if (as in the case of the shorthand writers in this school  
in 1927-8) he enters into no active relation with the children,  
merely listening to what they do and say, without comment  
or question, and as unobtrusively as possible, can he keep  
near to the passivity of the mere observer.  This, however,  
can only happen behind the shelter of other adults, who do  
take responsibility and accept an active relation with the  
children.  These then focus the children's responses to parental  
influence upon themselves, and so make it possible the psyche  
logical detachment of the others who are trying to do nothing  
but watch and record.  
   The ideal plan is obviously for the observer to be quite  
invisible to the children; and Gesell has, of course, made  
ingenious arrangements for this end.  Yet it has to be remem-  
bered that even in such a situation, the observers are not  
watching children altogether freed from the influence of  
grown-ups.  If any adults are with the children, it is the  
children-in-relation-to-the-grown-ups which form the matter of  
observation.  And even if no grown-ups are with the children  
at the moment, yet the latter will still be deeply affected in  
their total behaviour by the parental images as crystallised  
in infantile phantasy and by their previous experience of  
adults.  
   If this view be soundly based, it is obviously one of the  
utmost importance for child psychologists.  It means that we  
can never entirely rule ourselves out as a factor, even should  
we approximate to the pure observer, and interfere as little  
as possible with the children we are watching.  But where we  
actually combine the two functions of educator and observer,  
and above all, when we are the actual parents of the children  
in question, as well as psychologists, many allowances will  
have to be made in all our records for our own direct if  
involuntary effect upon the children's behaviour.  
   I have elsewhere1 drawn attention to the extent to which  
such considerations have been overlooked by reputable child  
psychologists and will here quote from those remarks.  
   "An examination of some of the contributions of genetic  
psychologists makes it clear that a very great number of  
supposed psychological observations are permeated through  
and through by pedagogic influences and moral judgments,  
and that the psychologists in question are themselves quite  
unaware of this, and therefore unable to make any allowance  
for it in their own conclusions.  The most outstanding example  
is that of the world-renowned and world-quoted Stern, who  
bases his genetic psychology mainly on observations of his  
own children, and as a result of these observations feels him-  
self entitled to hold very definite opinions upon theoretical  
problems of first-rate importance, such as the emotional  
development of children and infantile sexuality.  A careful  

1 Forum of Education, V, 2, p. 117.  

perusal of the observations given1 makes it clear that a  
very particular standard of personal manners and morals was  
imposed upon these children, and that the parents' approval  
and disapproval were constantly used to control the children's  
behaviour in the most effective manner.  The strength, severity  
and immediacy of the inhibiting reactions in the parents are  
indicated in the following quotation:  
   P. 534.  Hilde (3;9).  `When she is disobedient, the threat  
of the other room, or even the way I reprove her either with  
a word or in silence is always effective.  Nothing is more  
terrible to her than to see me look "sad".  She begs almost  
with tears:  "But you look so sad, do, do be happy again".  
And when I lose the "sad" look, the joyful cry comes:  
"You're not sad any more?" and H --  quickly forgets her  
own troubles.  For a few days now, she asks, whenever she  
has been naughty:  "But I may still love you, mummy?"  
Often I do not even scold the children when they are tiresome,  
only look at them reproachfully or sadly, and the transforma-  
tion is complete.  Neither of them can bear to see their mother  
sad for two minutes:  "I'll be good", they sob, so that there  
is never any lasting discord, and sunshine follows the shower.'  
And an indication of how the child's sense of guilt was  
stimulated and welcomed is given in the following:  
   P. 538. (3;5).  `Hilde now punishes her little naughtinesses  
at our request, either spoken or expressed by a reproachful  
look, with a slap on her fingers.  This began with my once  
saying to her:  ."Mother does not want to whip you, give  
yourself a slap."  She quickly adopted this kind of punish-  
ment; indeed, she often anticipates our penal intentions by  
saying:  "I'll beat myself without you", and takes up the  
matter seriously, putting considerable energy into it.  Thus  
she herself makes expiation for her own fault and so restores  
her psychic equilibrium.  In younger days, she often asked  
me to give her a slap when she considered it deserved'."
   Seeing then that the influence of the adult is inevitably  
a potent factor in the behaviour of children, so that even  
when we are alive to it and want to reduce it, we cannot  
from the very nature of the child's case altogether remove  
it -- what is in fact meant by describing the particular conditions 
of this group as "relatively free"?  
  
 1 W. Stern.  Psychology of Early Childhood.  3rd edition.  

   In the broadest terms, it means certain general cumulative  
directions of change from the more usual conditions:   
   1.  An all-round lessening of the degree of inhibition of  
the children's impulses.  This led to:  (a) A differential  
lessening of checks in one large field of behaviour, viz., that  
of verbal expression.  Practical considerations set a definite  
limit to what the children could be allowed to do, but they  
were given a far greater freedom than is common to express  
their feelings and their views in words.  (b) A certain degree  
of release of specific impulses which in the ordinary way are  
liable to be checked or transformed at their source -- such as  
some intellectual impulses, and certain aspects of infantile  
sexuality.  (c) A greater dramatic vividness of their social  
and imaginative and intellectual life as a whole, as will, I  
think, be plainly seen in the records.  
   2.  The things provided for their use, and the detailed  
ways (described later) in which we responded to their various  
impulses, led the children to be much more generally active  
than they can be under ordinary conditions.  This greater  
activity in all directions, originated, developed and sustained  
by the children themselves, was a definite part of our educa-  
tional aim.  And it not only led the children to show us their  
inner minds with far less reserve and fear than in ordinary  
circumstances, but through the richer, more varied and more  
immediate experience of the social and physical worlds which  
it brought to them, it also stimulated and diversified their  
actual responses.  There was, in other words, more for us  
to see and we could see it more plainly.  

   As a result, it might be possible to compare what we saw  
of these children's minds under these conditions with what  
the more usual conditions of home and school allow to be  
seen, by thinking of it as a cross-section of their minds taken  
nearer to the level of instinct and of spontaneous interests  
than is usually possible.  This cross-section does not show  
fewer components; it does not reveal a simpler picture of  
the roots of behaviour, even in the youngest children but  
a different one.  The pattern of the interplay of the various  
component instincts with each other, with the phantasy life,  
and with real experience, is different at this level from what  
it is at a level of greater real inhibition by outer conditions, 
although the elements of which it is composed are the same.  
   The later sections of this book and the volume on social  
development will give body to this bare formal statement  
of the psychological changes involved in our "freedom".  
   It should now be clear that this freedom is not to be under-  
stood merely in a quantitative sense, but as a set of specific  
qualitative conditions which differed from those more usually  
obtaining in schools for little children in certain definite direc-  
tions.  It is equally clear in view of all the considerations  
already put forward, that in order to understand the behaviour  
described in the records, as psychological phenomena it is  
necessary to read them in relation to the background of the  
actual educational technique employed.  In an early para-  
graph, I stated that the intention of the bulk of this book  
is mainly psychological rather than educational; but this  
cannot free me from the necessity of making as clear and  
specific as space will allow the exact psychological setting of 
the behaviour recorded; and this setting is a function of  
the educational technique.  The next chapter is therefore  
devoted to a description of this technique.  It is not here  
offered primarily as a contribution to educational theory it  
is a bald statement, for psychological purposes, of what was  
done and what was left undone, without any attempt to decide  
whether or not, in the long run, every part of the technique  
can be justified.  



                        CHAPTER TWO  
  
               THE CONDITIONS OF OBSERVATION  

a.  The children and staff.  The school began at Cambridge  
in the autumn of 1924 with a group of ten boys, ranging in  
age from 2;8 to 4;10 years.  During the year 1926-7, the age  
range was 3;0 to 10;5; and in the last term covered by these  
records, there were twenty children in the group, of ages  
between 2;7 and 8;6.  
   The first girl came in the third term of the first year.  
During the period covered by these records, the proportion  
of girls to boys never rose above one to four.  
   The number of the staff was two in the first two years, three  
in the third year, and five in the last term of these records.  
   The children were from professional families, many of highly  
distinguished parents.  They were all well above the average  
mental ratio, and ranged from 114 to 166, with a mean of 131.1  
   Most of the children came to the school from 9.30 in the  
morning to 3.30 in the afternoon, a few of the younger ones,
leaving at lunch-time.  At first we were a day-school only;  
but in the second year we began to take children into resi-  
dence, and in the third year about a third of them lived at  
the school.  

b.  The school.  The school met in a large hall, from which  
easy steps ran to the garden, where there was plenty of  
room for running and climbing, for communal and individual  
gardening, and for various sheds and hutches for animals.  
The garden had two lawns, and plenty of trees, many of  
them bearing fruit.  
   The large hall bad a gallery with stairs at each end, and  
a low platform, on which the piano stood.  The horizontal  
framework supporting the roof made excellent bars for the  
children to hang on or climb up to.  
   Besides the large hall, there were four smaller rooms, and  
a cloakroom and lavatory.  Part of the cloakroom was used
as a kitchen by the children; the gas-cooker, and shelves  
and tables for crockery and cooking utensils were kept there.  

1 One child, tested at 3;0, with a m.r of 103 (doubtful for   
various reasons) is omitted.  If she be include the mean is 129.  
The large hall was used for general purposes, and for music  
and dancing.  In the first year, one of the smaller rooms was  
used as a rest room, and another as a reading and writing  
room for the older children of the group.  Later on, one of  
the rooms became a quiet room for the older children, with  
shelves for the school library, and the general reading and  
writing equipment.  One large room was fitted up as a com-  
bined carpentry room and science laboratory.  (The children  
at one stage called this the "cutting-up room", as most  
of their biological work was done there.) The third was a  
handicraft room, with equipment for modelling, drawing and  
painting; and the fourth, a quiet room for the smaller  
children, in which reading and writing material suitable for  
them was kept, and movable tables and chairs.  
   The school was attached to a house, in which the children  
who were in residence lived.  (During part of the third year,  
and later, several of them and some of the staff lived in-  
another house five minutes' walk away, with a large garden  
of its own.  Each child living in had a bed-sitting room  
of his own.) The cooking of the mid-day meal was done  
in the house (unless the children did it themselves), and  
handed through a hatchway to the schoolroom.  

c.  Equipment.  Every room had plenty of shelves, cup-  
boards and tables of suitable height and planning.  There, 
were the usual small light tables and chairs, with two or  
three larger ones for meals, or for communal building and, 
modelling.  There were chairs and a long table in the garden,  
and the children often carried the small tables out there also.  
There were rugs and cushions to sit upon on the floor; a  
few low plank beds of light weight, with flock mattresses,  
for resting on or "playing house" with.  
   In the garden, there was a sandpit with a water tap, a tool-  
shed, a summer-house with roof and open sides, a see-saw  
(which had detachable weights hung at intervals underneath),  
sliding boards, movable ladders, and a "Jungle-gym"  
climbing cage.  
   Many varieties of constructive material, and of aids to  
"finding out" (i.e., experiments to discover how things were  
made, and how they worked), were provided; paper of many  
sorts; a large store of coloured plasticine, and later, of  
potter's clay; crayons and chalks and movable blackboards  
(the children also often drew on the floor); paints, both  
artist's colours and "real" (housepainter's) paints, with  
suitable brushes; beads, scissors, coarse canvas, wool and  
coloured sewing threads, raffia; rolls of thin coloured muslin;  
boxes of all sorts; plasterer's laths for woodwork, and later  
on, pieces of smooth timber; hammers, saw, pincers, nails,  
and other tools for wood, of the proper size and weight  
(including a double-handled saw for cutting up logs); a  
carpenter's bench; wooden and glass vessels for measuring  
volumes with water or dried beans; bricks for building, both  
a variety of wooden ones, and old "real" bricks of small  
size for building in the garden; pins and paste; tape-  
measures and foot-rules; a simple balance of a long wooden  
arm resting on a knife-edge support (provided because the  
construction of the household balance is not clear); the  
household balance; small movable pulleys which could be  
screwed in where desired; lengths of rope and string; a  
hand lens; maps of Cambridge town and county; an  
H.M.V. portable gramophone and selection of records; a  
pendulum, with movable weight, fixed on the wall.  The  
carpenter's room in the second and third years included a  
lathe with a variety of lathe tools, a drilling machine, and  
such oddments as a spirit level and callipers, etc.   
   After the first year, Bunsen burners were fitted to the  
benches both in the large hall, and in the laboratory for the  
older children, and we had tripods, flasks, glass rods and  
tubing, etc., to use with them.  (The supply of gas was  
controlled by a detachable key for each burner, so that the  
burner could not be used by the children unless one of us  
was there to supervise.)  In the laboratory we also kept our  
dissecting instruments and dishes, etc., jars for specimens,  
human skeleton and anatomical diagrams.  
   The living animals (kept mostly in the garden) included  
several families of mice and rabbits, guinea-pigs, two cats and  
a dog, a hen and chickens, snakes and salamanders, silk-  
worms, a fresh-water aquarium, and a wormery.   
   Of formal educative material, we had the Montessori equip-  
ment, including (after the first year) the advanced material;
some of Dr. Jessie White's material; the Linay number  
apparatus; and (in the third year) the Asen1 educational  
material from Geneva.  Of reading material other than that  

1 Devised and perfected at the Maison des Petits, Geneva.   

included in these sets, we had a wide variety of the "look-  
and-say" type -- pictures cf things with names attached,  
pictures with short stories, commands, labels, and so on.  
Much of this was made by us and the children as required.  
The older children had a typewriter, and a library of suitable 
books.  

d.  Educational aims.  The mere list of materials provided  
for the children's use gives some hint as to the direction of 
our educational aims.  It suggests at once two particular  
aspects of our methods, viz., that we wanted to stimulate  
the active inquiry of the children themselves, rather than  
to "teach" them; and that we wanted to bring within  
their immediate experience every range of fact to which their 
interests reached out.  These two aspects were important  
clements in our views as to what the school could and should  
do for young children.  I will try to make clear what these  
views were as a whole.  
   On the basis of previous direct observations of the behaviour 
of young children, as seen in their ordinary lives as well as 
in all types of school, it was clear to me that children as  
intelligent as those in this group have a very direct and active  
interest in everything that goes on in the general world around  
them.  They are eager to watch and "find out" about all  
the concrete events of the home and the street:  the structure 
arrangement of the house, the drains and water-supply,  
the electric light, the gas-cooker and fire, the telephone, every-  
thing connected with cooking and cleaning, the street drains, 
road-making and mending, the shops, motor-cars and buses,  
the policeman's way of directing the traffic, the railway  
station; the facts of their own feeding and washing and  
digesting and excreting and growing, and the whole cycle of  
life in animals and plants and the human family.  
   Active pleasure in looking at these things, and eager  
curiosity about them, is one of the most striking features of  
minds of intelligent children of two years and more.  
It has quite as large a place in their spontaneous behaviour  
their delight in stories and "make-believe" in song and  
dance, and in all forms of "self-expression".  And yet it  
been very largely shut out of the tradition of schools for  
young children, even of progressive schools.  Art and handi-  
crafts, literature and music, have their due place; and our   

18          INTELLECTUAL GROWTH IN YOUNG CHILDREN  

ways of bringing these to the experience of little children are  
now on the whole well bad in child nature itself.  But the  
child's pleasure in "finding out", and his direct and active  
interest in the things and events of the physical and human  
worlds are largely neglected.  They are not only hardly pro  
vided for; they tend to be actually inhibited by our emphasis  
on all the arts of "self-expression", on the one hand, and  
on the importance of reading and writing, the mere tools of  
mediate experience, on the other.  
   The reasons for this are, of course, partly bound up with  
the history of the scholastic and verbal tradition in education  
as a whole.  In many directions this tradition has now been  
amply corrected.  Most of us are agreed in theory and practice  
about the great importance of the creative imagination, and  
of its expression in literature and handicraft, in music and  
drama and rhythmic movement.  We are convinced of the  
value of the child's own practical activity in making things.  
as a means of harmonious growth.  We know the technical  
value of activity in the three R's and ordinary school studies.  
And Dr. Montessori has persuaded us to see how great a  
pleasure and how rich an education the young child can  
get from the "exercises of practical life".  
   But our awakening to these things seems for the time being  
to have exhausted our impulse to learn from the child.  We  
seem to have stopped there, and to have refused to take  
seriously any other part of his behaviour as seen outside the  
walls of the schoolroom.  As soon as we came to realise  
what a rich phantasy life the young child has, and how
inevitably he looks out upon the world from the centre of  
his own personal feelings, we have behaved as if he did this  
all the time, and wanted nothing but fairies and phantasies.  
It is quite true, and a most significant truth, that the child's 
world is essentially a dramatic world.  Undoubtedly, his direct  
interest in things going on around him in the home and the  
street has its roots deep in an intensely personal life.  The  
records in this volume show how often and how readily the  
most active interest in things slips over into the dramatic  
play of father, mother and child; but they also help to  
show that their deeper sources do not prevent these interests  
from leading on to real experience, and from crystallising out  
into forms of sustained inquiry, and delight in the actual  
process of discovery, which are at least anticipations of the  
genuine scientific spirit.  The events of the real world are,  
indeed, often a joy to the child, as to us, just because they  
offer an escape from the pressure of phantasy.  
   The actual relation between the phantasy life and active  
intellectual interest in the real world of things and events  
is itself a profound psychological problem, and one which  
we had in mind throughout our work.  I shall return to it  
in the later theoretical discussions.  For the moment, I am  
emphasising only the observable fact that intelligent children  
do show both a delight in the world of imagination and  
dramatic play, and in "finding out" about the real world  
as seen in the things that go on around them in the home  
and the street.  To see the one need not blind us to the  
other; to provide for the one should not lead us to thrust  
it upon children, nor to starve the other.  
   In discussing this problem in The Function of the School  
for the Young Child, I quoted an example of the gratuitous  
confusion of the child's understanding of real processes by  
adult conventions as to the child's needs which occurred with  
highly intelligent and gifted boy of six years of age, who  
combined the qualities of the artist and the scientist in himself  
in the most delightful way.  One day he experimentally  
opened the case of the piano, and spent hours examining its  
structure and watching the action of the hammer on the wire,  
and the relation of the striking of the key to the movement  
of the hammer.  A day or two later he told me that his  
mother had said to him that "when the hammer struck  
the wire, a little fairy that was in the wire came out and  
sang".  
   Our failure to make any significant use of children's interest  
in discovery and in the concrete events of the physical and  
biological world has other roots also.  Partly, of course, it  
the outcome of quite mundane and practical considerations.  
It is, for instance, so much easier from the point of view  
of space, of staffing and equipment, to keep the children  
relatively inactive and to "teach" them, than it is to  
arrange for them to "find out".  It is so much simpler to  
teach them reading and writing, even by modern individual  
methods, to tell them stories, or even to teach them rhythmic  
movement, than it is to go with them to see a bridge being  
built or a road being mended, to trace the course of the  
telephone wires or water-pipes, or to wait patiently while  
they experiment with water or gas or fire or cooking things.  
Reasons of this kind, of course, account for the general lag  
of our practice behind our theory in every direction.  We  
have acknowledged the importance of "learning by doing"  
for many a long year; but really to let the child learn by  
doing would involve an immense advance in all the material  
setting of school life, as well as in the number of staff and  
variety of equipment.  Perhaps the constant struggle which  
educationists have to maintain in order to make living realities 
of those principles which have already been surely grasped  
has prevented us from considering possibilities which can  
hardly be realised on any large scale for decades.  
   Another reason why we have overlooked this particular  
interest of young children, even in most of our theories of  
education, may perhaps be that the ways of the school tend  
to be dominated by the needs of the average children, rather  
than by the more intelligent.  It may well be that this active  
interest in the real world is one of the distinguishing marks  
of the intelligent child, and that those of more average ability 
show it less.  How far this is so would itself be worth inquiry;  
certainly this group of intelligent children, as well as others 
I have observed, showed a very lively curiosity about what  
things were made of, where they came from, and the way  
they worked.  They did not, of course, show it all the time;
like all children, they had plenty of dull stretches.  But it  
was a recurring feature of their mental life; and there is no  
reason to think they are different from other children of the  
same intelligence, if placed under similar conditions.  
   It became, therefore, an integral part of our educational  
aim to provide for this as fully as for the more generally  
accepted needs of children.  And this developed a view of the  
functions of the school for young children rather different from 
the one implicit in general practice.  For me, the school has  
two main sorts of function:  (a) to provide for the develop-  
ment of the child's own bodily and social skills and means  
of expression; and (b) to open the facts of the external world  
(the real external world, that is, not the school "subjects")  
to him in such a way that he can seize and understand them.  
With the first purpose, everyone will agree; the second is  
a little more novel.  
   This is not, of course, the first time it has been suggested.  
The view has long been associated with the name and work  
of John Dewey.  But it may be the first time, at least in  
this country, that it has been taken really seriously, and put  
into practice in the education of quite young children.  We  
have long been familiar with the very young child's desire  
to touch and handle, to pull things to pieces, to "look  
inside", to ask questions; but we have not taken much  
serious practical notice of all this, as regards the direction  
of our work, and our notion of what the school as a whole  
should be and do.  We have been content to apply our new  
psychological knowledge of how the child learns, to the ways 
at getting him to learn the old things.  We have not used it 
to enrich our understanding of what he needs to learn, nor  
of what experiences the school should bring to him.  The  
school has on the whole remained a closed-in place, a screen 
between the child and his living interests.  
   And this is true in many respects of one of the most recent  
advances in education, the Montessori method.  As I have  
already suggested, Dr. Montessori "has seen, in certain  
directions at least, that the young child is human, and ready 
to assimilate real human experience if it is graded for his 
needs and capacities.  But, unfortunately, she has given her  
genius for devising technique to the narrow ends of the  
scholastic subjects.  In the exercises for practical life her 
humanity broke through the conventions of the school; but  
even so, more for the purposes of practical necessity than 
for the purpose of knowledge.  These practical exercises seem 
to be, with her, the field of morals rather than the field 
of intelligence.  To us, the direct interests of the child in the  
concrete processes in the world around him seem far more  
significant in themselves, and as a medium of education,  
than knowledge of the traditional `subjects' of the school- 
room.  In other words, we see no reason to let the school  
and its conventions stand between the child and real situations  
in the world".1  
   The school is, on my view, simply a point of vantage for  
the child in his efforts to understand the real world, and 
to adapt himself to it.  It should be a place of shelter for him; 
but not in the sense that it shuts the larger world away from  
him.  Its task is to bring the world to him, in ways and at a  
pace fixed by his needs and interests.  The school, the teacher  
and the teaching alike are simply a clarifying medium, through  

1 Forum of Education, V. p 131.  

which the facts of human life and the physical world are  
brought within the measure of the child's mind at successive  
stages of growth and understanding.  
   And it is the twentieth century world in which most children,  
and certainly those in this group, are interested -- the world of 
motor-cars, engines, aeroplanes, gramophones and the wire-  
less.  These tools of use and pleasure surround them in the  
street and the home, in picture-books and illustrated papers,  
and in the talk of grown-ups and older children.  They have  
a quite direct appeal to the imagination and interest even of  
the younger children, who love to watch trains and trams,  
to be the "fastest express in the world" as they run round  
the garden, to draw or model an engine or a motor, a "wire-  
less" or a system of roads and water-pipes.  They hold  
attention and stir efforts of understanding quite as powerfully  
as dogs and horses, as things seen on a country walk or a  
visit to a farm, as stories of ancient heroes or the people of 
far lands.  They are a part of these children's immediate  
and concrete world, which it is the business of the school  
to illuminate and simplify for their understanding.  
   Not only so:  it is at the point of these concrete interests  
that the intelligent young child touches a characteristic element  
in the spirit of the modern world.  When his mind moves out  
to these things and events, first by way of dramatic value,  
and then by way of understanding the "how" and "how  
much", he shows himself ready to enter into the scientific  
way of life.  He makes it clear that pleasure in the active  
exploration of the world, and readiness to be guided by facts,  
already have at least an embryonic meaning for him.  
   As theorists, therefore, we were carried far into the remoter  
provinces of the philosophy of education, by looking at these  
direct and concrete interests of intelligent young children.  
And one of our problems inevitably became that of providing  
the means and devising the methods by which the children  
could sustain and develop these interests, as a part of their  
living delight in experience as a whole.  Clearly there is no  
room for "science" or any "teaching" of science in a  
school for little children; but there is ample occasion for  
meeting the actual movements of the children's minds towards  
"finding out" about the world around them.  
   Our theoretical aims in this could be stated from either of  
the two opposite ends of the problem:  (1) To find suitable     
ways of giving satisfaction to this among all the other educa-  
tive impulses of children; and (2) To discover the beginnings  
of the scientific spirit and scientific method in the thought of 
young children, with a view to making sure of their amplest 
development.  
   The first of these is the more directly relevant to our educa-
tional technique as a setting for the psychological facts given  
in the records.  The second is nevertheless closely relevant to  
the understanding of those facts; and for this reason, I  
have added, as an appendix an account of some of the  
theoretical bearings of our experiment, which appeared in  
Nature (July 23rd, 1927).  

e.  The actual technique.  I have already made it clear that  
the general methods of the school aimed at encouraging the  
children's own active efforts in as many directions as possible. 
This free activity had, of course, its necessary practical  
limits, and was set in a general framework of relatively fixed  
arrangements.  It may be best to describe first these negative  
conditions.  

I.     LIMITS AND NEGATIVE CONDITIONS OF FREE ACTIVITY.  

   The demands we made upon the children as to things they  
might not do and things we definitely wanted them to do,  
were based upon concrete grounds, either of a practical or  
an educational nature, or both.  They included a number  
of things, such as the hours fixed for coming to school  
and leaving it, and for the mid-day meal, which have to  
be accepted by the children on the good grounds of other  
people's real practical convenience.  These make a framework  
of routine which children readily accept and often enjoy,  
apart from exceptional times when they are particularly inter-  
ested in something they are doing, and don't want to leave  
it.  We dealt with this in certain definite ways.  For example,  
with regard to the mid-day meal:  (a) We always gave the  
children a few minutes' notice (as we did with every sort of  
forced interruption to their pursuits); (b) We went quietly  
on with the laying and serving of the meal, letting the late-  
comer find his dinner cold; (c) We cleared away when the  
others had finished, leaving him to finish alone, unless the  
others suggested waiting for him.  But in fact the situation  
hardly ever arose.  The active open-air life made appetites  
too good to be overlooked, even by children eager at their  
pursuits; and the regular practice of giving the few minutes' 
warning made it easy for the children to be ready to come  
when dinner was actually announced.  Occasionally, the par- 
ticular children whose turn it was to lay the meal table might  
delay in coming to do this, and the table not be actually  
ready when dinner was served in the hatch.  Then we might  
say, "Dinner is here, and the table not ready yet -- soon it  
will be cold'; and the other children would express their  
impatience, and all run to help get the things needed.  
   Another detail of the same order was the necessity to let  
the cook know two or three days beforehand what menu had  
been chosen for dinner.  In the second and third years, the  
children took turns at selecting the items for each meal from 
a list of possible dishes which we gave them.  The cook told  
them that, if they wanted this right of choice, they would need  
to give her the list well beforehand, as she had to order the 
goods, and they had to be delivered in good time for cooking 
on the particular day.  We therefore got the children to make 
out a list of the week's menus at the beginning of each week. 
If they did not do this, they had to have the dishes which  
the cook had time to prepare at short notice.  
   These are instances of a type of limit to freedom of indi-  
vidual choice which constantly arises in practical life, and 
which has to be enforced, but the grounds for which are  
very largely within the understanding of even little children. 
   Another type is the limit set by the demands of bodily  
hygiene.  The active play of our children in gardening,  
modelling, painting, etc., was not compatible with much  
attention to cleanliness for the mere sake of appearance.  But 
they were asked to wash their hands before each meal, as  
a matter of course.  There was seldom any difficulty about  
this, as little children like the fun of washing; but sometimes 
there would be momentary grumbles or disputes as to whether 
a pair of hands really needed washing, especially with certain  
children.  Here we used the ordinary sanctions of suggestion, 
example, persuasion, and if necessary, definite command. 
   Again, there were the definite limits set in certain directions  
by considerations of real bodily safety.  We found that we  
did not need to limit our children on these grounds as much  
as most people imagine to be necessary; but of course, it  
had to be done in some ways.  The children climbed trees  
and ladders, used tools and handled fire and matches far  
more freely than is commonly allowed, and with complete  
immunity -- partly, no doubt, because of our careful super-  
vision, but largely also because their skill and poise became  
so good under these general conditions.  But we had to make  
certain rules for the doing of some of these things.  For  
instance, the gas supply was only turned on when we could  
supervise properly.  Again, we never allowed more than one  
child to climb on the same ladder at a time, nor near each  
other on the same tree.  The children loved, too, to climb  
on the roof of the summer-house, but we did not let more  
than one go up at a time.  In spite of protests and many  
attempts to defy this prohibition, it had to be enforced, since  
the penalty of even a slight push might have been serious.  
   Another absolute rule was that if a child made the least  
attempt or threat to hit another child with a tool, we took  
the tool away, no matter how eagerly it was wanted for the  
work in hand.  This again was obviously necessary when  
the children were freely using spades, hammers, and so on,  
and we found it far more effective than scolding.  We always  
kept strictly to the rule, and the children were very clear  
about it.  We had no accidents with the tools.  
   Another demand coming under the head of obvious prac-  
tical considerations was that the children should put away  
any one set of tools or apparatus which they had been using,  
before taking another.  This demand was sometimes an  
occasion for defiance or argument, but on the whole it was  
cheerfully and willingly agreed to.  The grown-ups were  
always ready to help in putting things away.  The request  
was in fact usually made to the younger children in the form  
of "Shall I help you put these things away?"  Or "Let's  
put these away before you have that".  With the older ones,  
it would be more direct, if needed at all, and our help would  
not so usually be given.  
   These limits based mainly upon practical considerations  
clearly all have their strictly educational aspects.  For  
instance, the necessity of giving the cook notice of the food  
desired, or of putting things away so that they shouldn't get  
muddled or broken, both bring to the children's attention  
certain economic and practical facts.  The prohibition as to  
quarrelling with tools educates the children in social responsi- 
bility as well as ensures their safety; and the training in  
cleanliness has its social and intellectual as well as hygienic 
aspects.  
   There were other demands of a more directly educational  
kind.  For example, with regard to quarrelling among the  
children:  whilst we did not interfere more than was necessary  
for real safety in any disputes between children who were  
equally matched in size and ability to stand up for them-  
selves, we did step in to prevent any bullying of weaker or  
younger children by older and stronger.  If it was needed,  
we held a child firmly to prevent his hurting one who could  
not look after himself.  Within wide limits disputes among  
equals could be left to settle themselves, and were very useful  
experiences.  But the children could not find their way out  
of the temptation to tyrannise over the weaker or younger  
ones, and had to be helped here by the firm interference of  
adults.  In the early days of the first term's work, I was not 
quite certain about this in my own mind; but a very short  
experience with a group of aggressive boys of uneven powers  
of self-defence made the issues perfectly clear, and settled  
the limits of non-interference.  We refused also to allow any 
cruelty to animals.  
   A further instance of educational demands is that we made  
each child responsible for the cleansing of his own dinner  
crockery, etc., after the meal.  At the very beginning we  
tried the plan of asking the children to take turns in pairs at  
helping to wash the crockery; but with such little children  
this did not work, short of actually forcing them to do it.  
Then we asked each to wash his own utensils, every day, and  
made it clear that no one else would do it if he did not, and  
that we would not serve the next day's meal on a dirty plate.  
This plan worked very well indeed, probably because the  
responsibility it involved was perfectly specific and clear.  
(The children themselves presently began a system of inter-  
changes:  "You wash mine to-day and I'll wash yours  
tomorrow".  They kept to these bargains with surprising  
faithfulness, and we had at times such elaborate lists as to 
who was to do whose plates on a given day that they had to  
be written down.) Once or twice there were rebellious souls  
who asked impatiently, "Why do we have to wash our own  
things?"  My reply was simply, "Why not?",  which  
sometimes led to a discussion of the various things people did  
for each other and for themselves. 
   In general, we set limits to our own actual services or help  
wherever it appeared that the children would make more  
fruitful effort without them.  A minor but not infrequent  
instance is with regard to the pleasure which little children  
take in being passively swung, carried pick-a-back, or pushed  
round in a toy car.  To give them some of this when they  
ask for it (as they often do) is a natural act of friendliness.  
But they are quite ready to tyrannise indefinitely over any  
adult who will go on doing this sort of thing for them.  It  
was clearly not practical for us to do much of this for any  
one child when we had to work with a group, and we never  
hesitated to refuse it openly on the ground of convenience.  
But our reasons were also strictly educational.  This sort of  
thing calls out no active effort of growth or skill on the part  
of the child himself; nor is it socially satisfactory that any  
one child should be able to monopolise an adult for merely  
passive enjoyment.  If and when we agreed to do this for  
the children, we persuaded them to agree to "take turns"  
and tried to get them to do it for each other, rather than to  
look to us for it.  
   These instances may serve to show the type of prohibition  
or positive demand which made the routine setting for the  
children's free activities.  There was no inhibition for inhibi-  
tion's sake.  The children were never asked "to obey",  
but always to do this, or not to do that.  Both denials and  
requests were always quite specific, and firmly based in con-  
erete grounds.  They were thoroughly scrutinised beforehand,  
and were then made quite straightforwardly.  Once made,  
it was taken for granted that the children would conform.   
   The theoretical basis of obedience does not seem to present  
any particular difficulty. As and when it is needed for the  
safety of the young, the call for obedience belongs to the  
biological responsibility of the parent.  Moreover, it has its  
roots deep in the psychology of the human child.  But it is  
not an end in itself.  It is a condition, not a purpose.  How  
far we have the right to ask for it depends entirely upon what  
we make of it.  We can employ it meanly, to satisfy our  
own need for power or dignity; or wisely, to support the  
child himself against his own ignorance and confused desires.  
The issues turn, not upon whether we shall ask children to  
obey, but specifically upon what we shall ask them to do  
and what we shall prohibit.  
   We saw, then, no particular virtue in obedience for  
obedience' sake.  On the other hand, we held on psychological  
grounds that once a particular demand was definitely made  
as such, it was important to carry it through.  For both  
these reasons, we were careful not to put into the form of a  
definite demand or prohibition anything that was not in itself  
important enough to be worth insisting upon.  Things in  
which we had merely a preference, but were willing to let  
the children decide if they felt strongly about their views, we  
were careful to express only in contingent terms.  "Perhaps  
you will do so-and-so."  "You might perhaps not do  
so-and-so."  
   This was also our general way of influencing the direction  
of the children's growth towards such desirable behaviour as  
gentle manners, positive consideration for others, and active  
social co-operation.  These things refuse dictation, but they  
grow in response to the friendliness and reliability of the  
adult, and happy reciprocal relations with other children.  
To have permanent value they must be spontaneous, and  
spring from a happy free friendliness, which is in its turn  
the fruit of the child's experience of our behaviour to him.  
To make them a battle-ground for "obedience" is to belie
them.  
   The area of definite command and prohibition was thus  
kept as small as possible.  Moreover, even within these  
limits, appeal was made wherever possible to the children's  
intelligence, and to the objective grounds for the desired  
behaviour.  Our aim was to lessen progressively the need  
for mere implicit obedience, just because it was to us an  
instrument of education, not an absolute value.  
   This was also one of the reasons why we made our demands  
always quite specific and concrete, and why we adapted them  
to childish limitations of understanding and control.  The 
practice of giving the children, wherever this could be done,  
a few minutes' warning before disturbing anything they were  
doing, is an instance of this.  With the youngest children,  
if they were eagerly absorbed in something when it was time  
for lunch or for going home, we would give this notice more  
than once before actually making the demand, and make the  
time interval quite short.  Little children have a feeble sense  
of time; and whilst five and six-year olds can appreciate  
five or ten minutes, they would have forgotten all about  
the warning at the end of half-an-hour.  With the children  
of nine or ten, a single longer notice would be enough.  
   In the same way, we did not treat a moment's contrariness  
in a young child as an occasion for a pitched battle of wills,  
but left him alone for a time, saying, Perhaps you'll do  
it soon and then came back to the point later.  In most  
cases, this would allow the contrariness to pass, and bring  
a cheerful willingness.  
   Again, when we were about to stop doing something for  
the children, such as entering into their phantasy games, or  
helping to swing them; or to stop their doing something  
which we felt had reached the limit of usefulness, as, for  
instance, when in running round the schoolroom as "engines"  
they had begun to get over-excited -- we would again give  
them a brief notice.  I'll do this a few more times, and  
then I'm going to stop."  "We'll do this a little longer,  
but then we'll do something else."  This type of consideration  
for the children was a great help in winning their cheerful  
co-operation.  
   Again, whenever it could possibly be done, we used the  
natural outcome of the children's actions as the means of con-  
ditioning their behaviour.  We let them find out, for instance.  
what it feels like to hit and be hit, to have one's beautiful  
tower knocked down by someone else who is careless or angry,  
or to suffer the anger of the owner of the tower if one knocks  
his down.  
   Another illustration of this is the case of the child of four-
and-a-half who on one occasion would not bother to wash his  
cup in which he had drunk some milk.  We left him to find  
out the results of this, our part being simply to refuse to give 
him milk in the dirty cup next day.  As all the other cups  
were in use, he went without.  When after two days he got  
tired of his obstinacy and went to wash the cup, he found  
the milk dregs in an advanced stage of decomposition, and  
was both interested and disgusted.  After this, if anyone  
grumbled about washing his cup, the others would say, "It'll  
get awful if you don't!"  And although some of the children  
had sometimes to be reminded once or twice to do their cups  
when they wanted to run off to something more interesting,
the occasions of direct refusal or of more than a moment's  
neglect were quite rare.  
   A further instance of the same sort occurred when one  
week the children would not bother to write out the dinner  
list in time for the cook.  They had been reminded once or  
twice, and when after this they did not do it of themselves,  
we left them to experience the results.  Monday dinner-time  
came, the children ran in to dinner, and there was none  
provided.  With tones that expressed both amusement and  
chagrin, Priscilla (7;2) said, "Oh! we forgot to order the  
dinner!"  A deputation to the cook was arranged, and she  
was asked whether she had anything she could give them.  
She had eggs in stock, and they all helped to make toast while  
she scrambled the eggs.  They often talked about this inci-  
dent, and never again forgot the list completely, although once  
or twice they came near the margin of time with it.  The  
incident led to a good deal of useful and interested talk about  
shopping and delivery, and the time needed to cook different  
things.  
   Again, if the children broke any of the crockery, as with  
an active group of such young children was bound to happen  
sometimes, we did not hurry to fill up the gaps, but left them  
to feel the resulting loss for a while, and to make shift with  
what was there.  This was of course far more effective in  
encouraging care than scolding would have been.  We did  
not scold but contented ourselves with remarking on the  
inconvenience of the loss, and asking the children to help in  
the ordering or shopping needed for replacement.  After the first  
term of the school, the number of breakages was quite small,  
although the children brought the crockery from the cloak-  
room to the table in the schoolroom or garden (up and down  
several steps), and carried it back and cleansed it themselves.  
   Again, the penalty we inflicted for spilling water, for  
example, was to ask the child to wipe it up and with all  
but the youngest children, this would be quite definitely  
insisted upon -- but again without any moral comments.  
   It may be asked what we did when there was a direct  
refusal to this or other requests.  That depended upon what  
the request itself had been, and on the total situation.  Where 
it was a matter of real importance that the children should  
at once do what was asked, and it was possible for us to  
enforce it physically, we did so.  As an example, if two  
children had climbed up on to the roof of the summer-house,  
in spite of our ruling that only one should go at a time, and   
the second one refused to come down and await his turn, we 
would lift him down.  Or, if as happened on a few occasions,  
one or two children ran out of the school door and down the  
lane (the corner of which was dangerous with traffic), and  
would not come back when they were called, we carried them  
back without hesitation.  Where the urgency was not so great,  
we would of course give the child time to do what was  
asked, and have recourse to physical enforcement only in  
the last resort.  It will however be asked what we did where  
the nature of the case precluded physical enforcement, such  
as the one already mentioned of wiping up spilt water, or  
putting away tools.  If the child would not do it on request,  
we would leave him for a little while, and then ask again.  
If then he went on refusing we in turn would refuse to let  
him have anything else to use until it was done; and would  
warn him that we should not allow him to have the water  
(for example) again unless he would be responsible for wiping  
up any that he spilt.  The actual degree of insistence would,  
however, always be modulated to such differentiating circum-  
stances as the child's age, the clarity of his understanding  
beforehand that this particular thing was expected, or his  
familiarity with our general ruling on such points.  Or if, for  
instance, he were very tired at the end of a vigorous day  
we ourselves would give more help in the task than at other  
times.  
   This example can be taken as typical of our methods, and  
of the kind of sanctions we used when it was essential to show  
that we meant our requests to be taken seriously.  We never  
finally enforced any command about which the children had  
not been quite clear before they undertook the responsibility.  
If it transpired that they had not understood, we simply used  
the occasions to make the general demand quite clear.  And  
we never used reproaches.  The statement of our conditions  
was made in a perfectly matter-of-fact way, and as clear  
and specific as possible.  And when once they were fully  
understood, they were kept to.  
   Another important aspect of our methods was the attempt  
to avoid the clouding of the child's understanding of real  
processes by a confusion of causal and moral categories.  
This very common type of muddle is often accredited to  
native tendencies in the child's mind.  But it is more than  
likely that much of it is absorbed from the talk and precepts  
of adults, who rarely have the issues clear in their own  
thought.  The point is well illustrated by Piaget's instance  
of the child who, when he was told, "You must always  
put a `d' in `grand'", asked, "Why, what would happen  
if you didn't?"  The child's interpretation of "must" here  
is surely quite logical, since he will certainly have heard the 
word used very often in this moral and imperative sense.  
And if we, in talking to children, persistently use words in  
several different meanings, it is hardly sound psychology to  
attribute the whole of the resulting confusion to children's  
native modes of thought.  This word "must", for instance,  
is used by adults indifferently as an assertion of will or state-
ment of duty, as an expression of logical necessity, of  
invariable sequence and of probability of inference.  
   Such language confusions in both children and adults may,
of course, rest ultimately upon deep universal tendencies.  
They may well take their ultimate rise in primitive types of  
causal thinking, such as Piaget's second stage of causality;1  
and perhaps go back to what Ferenczi2 has called "omni-  
potence of thought", in which external events are felt to be  
under the control of wishes and phantasies.  But the extent  
to which children are able to make such distinctions and  
to articulate their thought clearly will undoubtedly depend  
in part upon the clarity or muddle of the language of the  
grown-ups who talk to them.  Wishing to give our children  
every help in this respect, we therefore avoided the use of the 
imperative form, and preferred the conditional, for changes  
in both the physical and the social worlds.  When A happens,  
B follows.  If you do X, Y will result.  "Must" then falls  
into its place as representing a condition.  If you want to  
reach a certain end A, it is necessary to provide certain  
conditions B.  If you wish the string of your sailing boat  
to hold fast, then "you must tie it" in one of a certain  
number of ways.  Such a form of language makes it easier  
for the child to distinguish between physical fact, and the  
will or whim of human beings.   "Must"  with us was never  
used in any other sense.  

  1 Piaget distinguishes four stages in the development of the child's  
notions of causality.  In the earliest stage, the child explains all  
physical events by primitive magic; in the second stage, by moral  
necessity; in the third, by natural forces; and in the fourth and  
latest, by mechanical laws. J, Piaget. "La Causalite Chez l'Enfant,"  
British Journal of Psychology, XVIII pp 276-301.  
  2 S Ferenczi.  "Stages in the Development of the Sense of Reality."  
Contributions to Psycho-Analysis, 1916. 

   On the other hand, we also wanted to discover what could  
be done to assist the children to lay hold of social realities  
as distinct from phantasies.  With this in mind, we made  
even the necessary social sanctions always quite specific.  "If
you hit John with the spade, I shall take it away." "I  
shan't let you do that."  "Will you please do this?"  We  
never used general categories such as "naughty", "good"  
or "horrid".  In other words, we wanted to help the children  
to realise and adjust to other people's wishes as every-day  
facts rather than as mysterious absolutes.   
   In general, we tried to use our parental powers in such a  
way as to reduce the children's need for them.  We held one of  
our tasks as educators to be that of counteracting the dramatic  
tensions in the child's mind; and the only way to do this  
is to bring in the real world at every possible point.  The  
way out from the world of phantasy is through the constant  
appeal to objective reality, to physical and social facts, and  
to interests and activities directed upon these.  In the external
world the dramatic inner tensions of the child's mind and the  
adult's are deflected and diffused.  And in our school our  
constant aim was therefore to throw our own weight always  
on the side of an appeal to the world of objective fact, and  
to stimulate intelligent observation and judgment on the part  
of the children.
   We may turn now to look at our positive methods of  
encouraging the children's own activities.  
  
2.  POSITIVE STIMULI.  

   The chief stimulus to activity was the environment itself.  
We aimed at arranging the physical surroundings in the  
schoolroom or the garden so as to provoke the children to  
active and constructive pursuits.  
   The material provided was laid out on low shelves round  
the various rooms, in such a way that it was easily within  
the reach of the children, and so plainly seen that it invited  
them to interest.  (A new child coming to the school would  
sometimes spend two or three days simply exploring the  
things on the shelves and in the rooms generally, before being  
drawn into the pursuits of the group.)  The wide variety of  
tools and materials has already been described.  At every  
point we tried to arrange these in such a way that the children  
could get them and use them unassisted.  (As one small  
example, we hung, at the right height on the wall of the  
smaller children's room, a piece of cretonne in which large  
needles threaded with coloured wool or cotton were inserted,  
ready for the children's use.)  
   In this setting, the children were quite free to move about  
the rooms and garden as and when they wished.  As already  
described, the rooms were assigned to different occupations  
rather than to different children, except that there were  
separate "quiet" rooms for the older and younger children  
respectively, with suitable material in each (i.e., rooms for  
quiet pursuits, not for resting).  When, however, in the third  
and fourth years of the school's existence, the age range of  
the children became greater, the elder ones were definitely  
asked to spend about two-thirds of the morning in their own  
quiet room, or in the handicraft or carpentry rooms.  This  
left the garden and general room free for the smaller children.  
For we found that if they and the older ones were left free  
to be together the whole of the time, the younger ones were  
rather inhibited in the choice of their occupations, and tended  
to be too passively taken up with the pursuits of the older  
children.  At all other times, however, the children distributed  
themselves about the rooms and garden as they wished.  The  
only further restriction on this was the visits of the teacher 
of eurhythmics, the times of which had to be at fixed  
hours.  
   They were equally free to choose their own occupations,  
either among the material provided, or from the world of  
their own phantasy.  There was no time-table or fixed plan.  
The length of time taken for any particular pursuit varied  
with the occasion and with the children.  We did not interfere  
with this, except by way of suggestion for some specific  
reason, such as, for instance, a reason of health.  If, for  
example, it had been a wet morning and the children were  
all busy indoors, and then the weather cleared, we would  
of course open the doors and say, "Shall we go into the  
garden?"  Or if some of the children became too excited  
and a little disorganised, when running about indoors (which  
happens much more easily indoors than out), we would then  
suggest some other thing to be done.  
   Our way of making the suggestion was most commonly to  
take a particular set of material to a table ourselves, and sit   
down to use it -- for instance, to begin to draw or model or  
use the number apparatus.  Nearly always this would lead  
at least some of the children to join us in the new occupation,  
and gradually all would be drawn in and settle down quietly  
to it.  
   (A fact of no little psychological interest is the particular 
value of modelling for this special purpose of introducing a  
calm mood and constructive activity after a period of excite-  
ment and wildness.  If ever a vigorous game had run down  
into disorder, or some situation given rise to active quarrelling,  
all that was needed was for one of the grown-ups to take out  
the plasticine or clay, and sit down and begin to model  
first some and then all of the children would come and join  
us within a few minutes, and social harmony and constructive  
effort would be restored.)  
   This use of the children's identification with grown-ups and  
their readiness to feel that what we do is a desirable thing to  
do, was one of the regular ways of introducing them to new  
interests, or of influencing them towards sustained effort in  
any direction.  It was one aspect of our general sharing of  
their interests and pursuits.  We shared all the children's  
interests actively, joining in their making and doing, their  
digging and painting, their experiments and discoveries as  
well as in their games of "engines" and "firemen", or  
"father and mother".  Together we and they explored the  
outer world, and together we devised ways of expressing the  
inner world of phantasy.  We were fellow-workers and play-  
mates, rather than teachers and pupils.  
   In general, however, we took our cue from the children.  
When we wanted to introduce new pursuits, this was usually  
because the children had put out a query in that direction,  
or because the new experiences were direct and progressive  
developments of already existing interests.  Examples of this  
occur all through the records, but some may well be quoted  
here to illustrate.  
   In the first autumn term, the children discovered by acci-  
dent that a piece of modelling wax which had been dropped  
on the hot-water pipes had melted.  They were very excited  
about this, and began to try other things on the pipes, to see  
whether they would melt -- plasticine, chalk, wood, and so on.  
Talking about this led to a discussion as to whether these  
things would melt better in the fire, and the children went  
on to try various things in the bonfire in the garden.  This  
was one of the threads of interest which led us presently  
to give the children a Bunsen burner and the necessary  
accessories for trying out these experiments as these made it  
so much easier for them to see the results clearly.  Another  
thread was their interest in melting ice and snow, which began  
on a snowy morning the same winter, and which was at first  
carried on by putting jars on the hot-water pipes.  
   During this first year, too, some of the children noticed the 
white china weights on the pulleys by which the electric lights  
could be lowered and raised.  They asked what these were,  
and pulled them down to look at them.  They were very  
interested in the mechanism, but the pulleys were far too high  
for the children to see them clearly.  We therefore got a  
number of light aluminium pulleys which could be fixed  
on the walls of the schoolroom, or over the sandpit.  The  
children came to understand these by using them in their  
play.  
   A question from one child as to what wood is made of  
led to a visit to a saw mill to see the tree trunks sawn into  
planks.  
   Another question arose when the children were all sewing  
with some cotton material Dan asked, "But how is stuff  
made? You can't sew without stuff to sew with -- how's  
the stuff made?"  The next morning I made some simple  
cardboard looms, and began to "make stuff" by weaving  
with coarse coloured wools.  At once the children came round  
me¬¬ --  "what are you doing?" and when they saw what  
I was doing, they all eagerly began to weave.  From this  
point, "making stuff" became one of their regular handi-  
crafts.  When, one day later, several children were sitting  
in the summer-house quietly weaving, they spoke of the size  
of the pieces of stuff they were making.  "You'd have to  
have a much bigger piece of stuff" to make a dress or a  
curtain.  They asked where the bigger pieces were made. I  
replied, "In the factories, with big machines".  Christopher  
said, "In the factories, they'd go racing ever so fast by  
electricity".  They then asked, "How big are the pieces  
made in the factory?  As big as that wall?" (the wall of  
the summer-house).  I replied, "Haven't you seen the big  
rolls of stuff in the drapers'shops?"  They did not remem-  
ber them, and so I arranged for the children to go to a shop  
with me, to look at the big rolls of dress material, and to  
buy some more for their sewing.  They made the visit the
following day, and each child bought a small length of muslin  
from a roll.
   The same summer, the children had taken to modelling  
in plasticine whole scenes of places they had been to, such  
as the bathing-pool on the river, with the people in it.  One  
day whilst they were modelling some such subject, an aero-  
plane passed over the garden, as often happened.  The  
children all watched it, and shouted up to it as they usually  
did, "Come down, come down!"  But one of them remarked  
that the man in the plane "can't hear us because of the  
noise the engine is making".  Another said, "Perhaps he  
can see us?"  And another, "I wonder what he sees, what  
we look like".  I then suggested, "Perhaps we could make  
a model of the garden as it looks to the man in the plane?"  
This suggestion delighted them.  We began on it at once,  
and put several days' work into it.  Some of the children  
climbed "as high up on the ladder as we can get, to see how  
it looks from the plane".  One boy of four-and-a-half realised  
spontaneously that from the plane only the tops of their own  
heads would be seen, and he dotted a number of small  
flat ovals over the paths of the model, "That's the children  
running about".  The children talked of the relative sizes  
of the different garden plots, the trees and lawns and buildings, 
and ran out to compare them several times.  Presently I  
showed them an aerial photograph of a countryside with trees  
and houses and roads.  They discussed this eagerly, and sug-  
gested modelling Cambridge "as the man in the plane sees it".  
I gave them then a simplified map of Cambridge, and after  
long discussion of this, and tracing of the river and the streets 
and roads which they knew, we drew one of our own together.  
First I marked the course of the river, and then by common  
discussion, they marked the roads they knew best, the railway  
and station, and the position of each of their homes, my own  
house, and the school.  
   And when, presently, I told the children that I was going  
to cycle to a place I had not been to before, and one of the  
children said, "Then how will you know the way?"  another  
answered, "She'll look at the map".  And another said,  
"Yes, it's when you come to the cross-roads that you'll have  
to look at the map -- it'll be all right when you`re going along  
a straight road, but when you come to where the roads divide,  
you'll have to get out your map and look".  
   On another occasion, three of the boarders found that they  
could lift off the railed backs of their couch-beds, and use  
them as small ladders.  This was bound to damage the rails,  
and yet the children's pleasure in having light ladders each  
for himself was very keen.  (Before this we had had only  
one large step ladder.)  I therefore told them that, whilst  
I would not let them use the bedrails for this purpose, I  
was willing to buy some small ladders if they would order  
them and say what sizes they wanted.  They agreed to the  
conditions, and a number of them went with me to a ladder-  
maker's yard three miles away.  We went part of the bay  
by bus, and walked the rest.  The children had measured up  
the sizes of the ladders beforehand.  The ladder-maker was  
also a wheelwright, and the children saw wheels and ladders  
being made.  They gave the order to the maker themselves.  
In the yard, one child (Priscilla) happened to see a three-foot  
piece of ladder which had been cut off another.  She fell in  
love with it, and exclaimed, "Oh, I wish I could have that  
baby ladder".  The maker overheard this, and told her that  
she could.  She therefore patiently dragged or carried it, with  
some help from the other children, all the way back to the  
bus and across the fens from the bus to the school.  The  
next day she painted it with oil paint in colours of her own  
choice.  
   These examples are perhaps enough to show the way in  
which we took up the children's suggestions or hints of  
interest, and followed them out actively with the children.  
Such positive encouragement to active thought and inquiry  
naturally increased its volume and variety.  The children were  
characterised by their zest and liveliness in the pursuit of any 
question which arose.  
   The instances already quoted will have hinted at another  
characteristic of the group life, viz., the amount of free dis-  
cussion.  Needless to say, we put no ban upon speech at  
any time, and there was plenty of lively talk all day long  
among the children, both with us and with each other.  
   The younger children were given complete verbal liberty.  
They were allowed to express in words their wishes, their  
feelings and their opinions quite without restraint, even when  
their wishes were undesirable and their feelings anti-social.  
There is good reason to think that the younger child needs  
this verbal freedom, while he is learning control of the cruder  
forms of behaviour.  But the older children, those, say, of  
six years or more, were expected to learn some control of  
speech as well.  With them, for instance, the verbal expression  
of defiance or hostility was met by the withdrawal of our  
co-operation, such as the refusal to grant a request, or to  
reply to angry remarks.  But this change was brought about  
gradually, and was not enforced too rigidly, without regard  
to the particular child and the particular situation.  
   The expression of opinion and the discussion of views were,  
of course, never inhibited at any age.  The meal-table talks  
were often particularly interesting and stimulating.  Two  
instances may be quoted here:  
   (a) Some of the children had become very interested in  
the question of "the beginnings of things".  "On this day,  
at lunch, they talked about `the beginning of the world'.  
Dan insists, whatever may be suggested as `the beginning'  
that there must always have been `something before that'  
He said, `You see, you might say that first of all there was  
a stone, and everything came from that -- but (with great  
emphasis), where did the stone come from?'  There were  
two or three variants on this theme.  Then Jane, from her  
superior store of knowledge, said, `Well, I have read that  
the earth was a piece of the sun, and that the moon was a  
piece of the earth'.  Dan, with an air of eagerly pouncing  
on a fallacy, `Ah! but where did the sun come from?'  
Tommy, who had listened to all this very quietly, now said  
with a quiet smile, `I know where the sun came from!'  
The others said eagerly, `Do you, Tommy?  Where?  Tell  
us'.  He smiled still more broadly, and said, `Shan't tell  
you!' to the vast delight of the others, who thoroughly  
appreciated this joke."  
   (b) "At lunch, Frank said to Dan, `Dan, yesterday I  
drank so much gas water (soda water) that I nearly blew  
up to the sky'.  Dan replied without any pause, `Frank,  
yesterday I ate so many potatoes that I nearly fell down to  
the ground'."  
   Our part in these discussions was always restrained.  When  
the children turned to us in the conversation, we responded.  
But our aim was rather to call out a clear formulation of  
the children's own views than to give them ours.  If any  
dispute arose, we tried to get them to compare their experi-  
ences and get clear the differences and likenesses.  And our  
last appeal was always to fact and away from dogma.  Not,  
however, by saying, "The facts are these";  but by sug-  
gesting,   "Did you look?  Let's find out.  Shall we try ?"  
and so on.  
   When the children turned to us, we would, in the first  
instance, throw the question back to them.  "What do you  
think?  How does it seem to you?"  If they asked for  
information which they could not get at themselves by further  
thinking or by practical effort, we of course supplied it.  But  
wherever possible we turned them back to the active search for  
the facts they wanted.  And if the children's own dogmatism  
led them to make errors of fact or judgment, and to assert  
these, we would say with a smile, "Well, perhaps it is --   
and perhaps it isn't".  Or, "It seems so-and-so to me;  
but let's go and look".  Sometimes merely to say, "Is it?"  
in a tone of simple inquiry will turn the children back to  
look at the facts again.  
   We thus used speech chiefly to provoke active exploration  
of the world, and to make its results clear and precise.  We  
did this because, after all, words are only tokens of experience, 
and are either empty or confusing to the children until they  
have had enough immediate experience to give the words  
content.  With young children, words are valueless unless  
they are backed by the true coin of things and doings.  
They have their own place as aids to experience, and to  
clear thought about experience.  The children with whom  
language has been kept subordinate to real things and events  
actually show a greater mastery of verbal expression than  
others.  One example of this is Dan's spontaneous and excel-  
lent description of the ball-and-socket joint at the hip in the  
human skeleton as "a twist-hole".  As the records show,  
our children were in general remarkable for their clarity and  
vividness of expression in words.  
   We avoided offering ready-made explanations to the  
children, not only because we did not want to foster verbalism,  
but also because we did not want to substitute ourselves as  
authority for the children's own discovery and verification  
of the facts.  We felt that the child's own observation, even  
if incomplete, was more valuable than a just belief accepted  
on our mere word.  His own imperfect observations can always  
be revised and completed by further effort, if we throw our  
own weight on the side of an appeal to facts.  It is the child's 
understanding that matters, not our pleasure in explaining.  
Discussion and explanation were therefore kept fully anchored  
to education by fact.  

   Examples of this may be quoted here.  

   (a) "The rabbit had died in the night.  Dan found it and  
said, `It's dead -- its tummy does not move up and down  
now'.  Paul said, `My daddy says that if we put it into  
water, it will get alive again'.  Mrs. I. said, `Shall we do  
so and see?'  They put it into a bath of water.  Some of  
them said, `It is alive'.  Duncan said, `If it floats, it's  
dead, and if it sinks, it's alive'.  It floated on the surface.  
One of them said, `It's alive, because it's moving'.  This  
was a circular movement, due to the currents in the water.  
Mrs. I. therefore put in a small stick, which also moved round  
and round, and they agreed that the stick was not alive.  
They then suggested burying the rabbit, and all helped to  
dig a hole and bury it."  

   (b) "The next day, Frank and Duncan talked of digging  
the rabbit up -- but Frank said, `It's not there -- it's gone up  
to the sky'.  They began to dig, but tired of it, and ran off  
to something else.  Later they came back, and dug again.  
Duncan, however, said, `Don't bother -- it's gone -- it's up in  
the sky', and gave up digging.  Mrs. I. therefore said, `Shall  
we see if it's there?' and also dug.  They found the rabbit,  
and the children were very interested to see it still there."  
   Again, the children sometimes discussed eagerly "Who  
is the tallest"? with a keen sense of rivalry.  If we  
were drawn into this by the children, we would of course  
always suggest, "Well, let's measure", and get the children  
themselves to do the measuring.  
   The garden was another valuable means of education by  
fact.  Each child had his own plot, and was perfectly free to  
do what he liked in it.  We adults did systematic gardening  
in our own plots, and in the common parts of the garden;  
but we did not bring any direct pressure on the children to  
keep theirs in order.  The most direct suggestion was when  
we bought bulbs or seeds for common use, and invited the  
children to put some in their private plots.  The children  
enjoyed the beauty of the seasonal pageantry from the garden  
as a whole.  Their private plots, however, were looked upon  
(by us) as places where they were free to experiment and  
discover all that they could of the life and death of the plants. If
theypulled up a plant and left it lying on the path, we did 
not rush to tell them that it would die, but left them to find  
this out for themselves.  If they spoke of what had happened,  
we would discuss it as a fact, without reproach.  And so when  
they left seedlings without water, or planted their bulbs in  
too shallow a hole.  If one of the younger ones dug up a  
bulb when it had been in the ground only a short time, he  
would at any rate find how little signs of growth could yet  
be seen; when he did this after a longer period, he saw the  
roots pushing downwards.  To "dig it up and see if it's  
growing" is a common impulse with young children, as  
every one knows.  It springs both from their eager curiosity  
and from their impatience and feeble sense of time.  The  
actual results, together with discussion of the stages of growth 
thus seen, soon discipline the impulse, without prohibition  
from us.  The delight in the green shoots and flowers leads  
gradually to a regular effort of care and attention; and  
meanwhile, the experimental impulse has made the facts of  
growth clear and vivid.  The older children did come to  
know a good deal about the biology and the care of plants,  
and several of them had successful gardens.  
   Another illustration of the practical arrangements based  
upon our view that understanding grows best from immediate  
experience, is the way in which the children were introduced  
to weighing.  We gave them a see-saw, which could also be  
used as a weighing machine.  Underneath the plank were  
hooks at different intervals from the centre, on which detach-  
able weights could be hung.  The children used it at first as  
an ordinary see-saw, and often still did so, of course, after  
they had discovered that it could also be used as a weighing  
machine.  We first drew their attention to the weights after  
there had been some discussion of "how heavy" certain  
children were.  They then began to find out "how much"  
each of them weighed.  At first this was crudely adjusted --   
"how many" of the weights were needed, irrespective of  
their size.  Then a hint from us, by way of balancing the  
weights themselves against each other, led to the perception  
of the graded sizes, the reading of the lbs. marked on  
the weights, the more accurate weighing of the children  
themselves, and then the formulation of the results in "so  
many pounds.  
   The children meanwhile were discovering by experiment  
that the weights could be attached at different distances from  
the centre, and that the apparent weight would vary accord-  
ingly, just as they had already found that when two or three  
children at one end were "balancing" two or three at the  
other, they had to shift their positions in order to get a "good 
balance"; and that a heavy child had to sit nearer the  
middle than a smaller one at the other end.  They were thus  
gaining experience of mechanics, as well as of weights and  
measures.  
   From this, they went on to a small wooden balance made  
with the same simplicity as the see-saw, a long arm which  
could be balanced on a wooden fulcrum, and which had  
hooks and small pans attached at graded distances from the  
centre.  They used this with, for example, plasticine, model-  
line "little men" to sit in the pans, and adjusting the size  
to make them balance.  Then they had the ordinary house-  
hold balance, which they used in their cooking; but this  
was not introduced until after they had used the simple wooden  
balance, since its construction and principle of working is far  
from clear.  
   Then again, the children's play in sliding down loose boards  
which they arranged at different angles, in using the pulleys,  
in putting up and, taking down the trestle tables for their  
games of "house", etc., and in modelling stairs for their  
plasticine houses, provided a full variety of direct experience  
of mechanical facts.  And the value of all this was shown in  
many spontaneous formulations by the children.  For instance,  
after using the sliding boards they noticed that when the  
boards were arranged at a certain steepness, with the upper  
edge well over the edge of the table, and they sat on this  
upper part, the lower edge was raised from the floor; as  
they put it, "we can balance on it".  They experimented  
to find how much had to lie over the table before they could  
do this.  Later on "they found that if they placed the boards  
rather steeply, and sat at the top, `we dropped down without  
pushing ourselves down'".  
   Another instance was quoted in The Function of the School  
for the Young Child, and may be repeated here.  During a  
visit of Professor Piaget to the school, he had been remarking  
to me that he had found that the appreciation of mechanical  
causality does not normally occur until eight or nine years  
of age, and that with regard to bicycles, for instance, children 
of less than that age rarely have any understanding of the  
function of the pedals.  In drawing the bicycle, they will put  
the pedals in, but not show their connection with the machine.  
He asked how our children stood in this respect.  At that  
moment, Dan (aged 5;9 M.R., 142), happened to be sitting  
on a tricycle in the garden, back-pedalling.  I went to him  
and said, "The tricycle is not moving forward, is it?"  
"Of course not, when I'm back-pedalling", he said.  
"Well", I asked, "how does it go forward when it does?"  
"Oh, well", he replied, "your feet press the pedals, that  
turns the crank round, and the cranks turn that round"  
(pointing to the cog-wheel), "and that makes the chain go  
round, and the chain turns the hub round, and then the wheels  
go round -- and there you are!"  
   In the records will be found other examples of this clear  
understanding.  One is the occasion when two children fell  
down the rather steep stairs from the gallery.  When I  
remarked, "It's a pity they're so steep", Dan said at once,  
"Yes, if we could push them out at the bottom, it would  
be all right -- it's because there isn't any room to push them  
out, that's why they're so steep":  an explanation which was  
quite correct, of course, as the bottom of the steps came to  
within two feet of the wall of the schoolroom.  
   Another aspect of the general method is the way in which  
we kept the children's advance in understanding of number  
and arithmetical processes constantly related to their practical 
interests.  If they wanted more stuff for sewing, a new mat  
for the school steps, new ladders, or curtains for the windows, 
we asked them to measure up the quantities or sizes required.  
When they wanted to make cakes, they bought the ingredients,  
counted the change, and weighed out the things themselves.  
   When we had a spell of extremely hot weather, I bought  
some thin coloured muslin, and suggested to the children that  
they should make themselves suits which they could wear  
without any other clothes.  They were delighted with the idea,  
and each child, even among the four-year-olds. made himself  
a "sun suit".  Most of them did the necessary measuring,  
cutting out and sewing themselves; some of the smaller ones  
needed a good deal of help with the measuring and cutting  
out, of course; but we helped in such a way as to make the  
process clear to them, and got them to do as much as possible.  
They wore these suits for some weeks, during school hours.  
   The same practical policy was followed with regard to  
reading and writing.  I have described how the children wrote  
out the weekly menus, and the lists of "who washes the  
plates to-morrow".  Everything of this kind that could be  
managed by the children with help from us in the way of  
spelling, was turned over to them.  Sometimes they wrote (or  
typed) letters ordering materials.  The ladders, for instance,  
that were ordered by the children in person at the ladder-  
maker's, as I have described, were late in delivery.  And when  
the children kept saying, "Oh, then will the ladders come -- 
we do want them!" I replied, "Well, will you write a letter  
to Mr. Smith, and ask him how soon he can deliver them?"  
The children did this, and, of course, posted it themselves.  
They very often wrote letters to each other, to me, or to their  
families.  And carried the whole thing through by buying  
the needed stamps and posting the letters.  
   Reading and writing were often used in their games, too;  
as when they were "mending the road", and put up notices  
saying "Road up -- repairs", and so on.  Very often we had  
to help the younger ones in the spelling, and did so freely.  
We held that for the children to gain this practical sense of  
the value of reading and writing was at their ages more  
important than mere formal progress.  
   In addition, we followed the more usual practices of, for  
instance, labelling the various things in the schoolroom, the  
drawers containing reserve material, and the place where each  
child hung his outdoor clothes, etc.  Wherever they could,  
the children wrote these labels themselves.  We used the  
formal reading material (already referred to) with the children, 
whenever they showed any interest in this.  We found the  
various word-whole material (e.g., boxes of pictures with  
descriptive names on loose slips), very valuable.  The word-  
whole and sentence-whole methods, of course, fitted in far  
better with our general technique than the Montessori synthetic  
procedure.  
   The technical processes of learning to read and write thus  
fell into their proper places as aids to recording and com-  
municating.  The value of this was found later on when  
every one of the children grew eager to master these tools.  
Whilst in the years between four and six most of them were  
behind the usual standard in reading and writing for children  
taught in ordinary or Montessori schools, they were all marked  
towards the end of these years by their unusual keenness to  
learn, and most of them easily pulled up to or beyond the  
normal level in their seventh and eighth years.  
   From what has already been said, it will be plain that the  
school was not, for these children, enclosed within the four  
walls of the schoolroom and garden.  Whenever the children's  
practical pursuits or theoretical interests led out to the world 
outside the school, we followed them up there; buying school  
material in the shops (sewing stuff, hammers and nails, cook-  
ing materials, paint to paint the chairs and tables, and so on), 
going to the bank to draw cash, to the post-office for stamps.  
to watch the new bridge being built over the river, visiting  
the telephone exchange, the saw-mill, the railway station, the  
fire station, the ladder-maker, taking bus rides in the country, 
punting on the river, long walks over the fens, pond-hunting  
and other excursions.  The records show how fruitful all this  
was for enjoyment and understanding.  
   Yet, in spite of all these methods, and their happy results  
in intellectual eagerness and clarity, it is probably true that  
far less actual pressure to learn was put upon these children  
than usually happens.  They were just as free to play out  
their phantasies by imaginative and dramatic games as they  
were to garden, to cook, to sew or to go shopping.  Indeed,  
they were more free, for the latter often called for more  
co-operation on our part, which could not always be given  
to particular children.  And they did in fact enjoy a great  
amount of phantasy play of all kinds.  Not only did we  
permit this freely (apart from the indirect stimulus to active  
effort from the tools and material provided, and from our  
own constructive occupation); but we, of course, helped the  
children to find imaginative expression in poetry, stories,  
music, dramatic play, rhythmic movement and dancing, as  
well as the handicrafts already described.  We did not value  
purely intellectual processes more than those of the creative  
imagination and the arts of expression.  Our distinction was  
that we valued them as much, finding room for both and  
that we did not confuse the two.  If the children wanted fairy  
stories, they had them; but we did not use these as a medium  
of explanation. 
   In general, our methods of fostering intellectual growth  
were parallel to those which have been found so fruitful in  
these other directions.  Educators have latterly come to see  
that children's bodily development is better served by free  
movement in running, jumping, climbing and shouting, and  
by dance movements based upon the natural rhythms of the  
body, than by systematic fixed exercises of the old military  
type.  They have found that aesthetic development is better  
encouraged by free creative work upon the lines of the child's  
spontaneous expression in colour, form, rhythm and miming,
than by set lessons in, for example, "model-drawing", or  
in the tonic sol-fa scale.  In the same way, we held that  
children's understanding is better fostered by meeting their  
natural interests in the world as a whole, and using their  
spontaneous impulses to handle and explore, than by giving  
set lessons in history and geography and the three R's.  
   In many ways, as will be seen by readers, this school had  
the character of the life of a large family.  Much of what  
we did with the children is in fact being done by the more  
intelligent parent of to-day.  But the school can, of course,  
provide a far greater variety of stimulus, and follow out the  
children's interest far more systematically and with greater  
single-mindedness, than the home can do.  
   A word must be said about the gradual change of emphasis  
with the older children.  In essentials, our methods remained  
the same as the children grew older; but there was, of course,  
a gradual modification in detail to meet their changing  
needs.  I have already hinted here and there at some of these  
modifications.  
   On the intellectual side, reading and writing played a larger  
part in the life of the older children -- in the extent to which  
it was used for pleasure, as a source of information, or for  
practical purposes; and in the time given to its technical  
mastery.  In general, the giving of information and of definite  
instruction had a bigger place with the older children than  
with the younger.  
   And gradually the usual school subjects began to crystallise  
out of the various directions of interest.  History was  
approached in the first instance as the history of everyday  
things, the things in which the children were already actively  
interested, such as railways, motors and means of transport in  
general, buildings, household tools, industries and costume.  
Among the first kind of books that the children had, for  
instance, were those dealing with the development of railways,  
motors, steamships and aeroplanes.  Geography grew out of  
their modelling, gardening and weather observations and their  
country excursions; physics, chemistry and biology, out of  
their various experiments (as can be seen in the sections of the 
records dealing with their intellectual interests); mensuration,  
arithmetic and geometry, out of their practical pursuits,  
aided by the formal material.  And there was, of course, a  
progressive development of technique in literature, music and  
eurhythmics, drawing, designing and carpentry; as equally,  
in the demands we made upon the children for social control  
and responsibility.  



                        CHAPTER THREE  
  
               DISCOVERY, REASONING. AND THOUGHT:   

                      THEORETICAL ANALYSIS  
  
A.  INTRODUCTION.  

   My aim in presenting, in Chapter IV, a full selection from  
my records, is to show the children's intelligence actually at  
work in the pursuit of their practical and theoretical interests,
in an environment which, although complex in its nature and  
varied in detail, was yet constant in its broad determining  
features.  

The Classification.  Having brought together the notes of the  
cognitive behaviour of our group of children, the first task was 
to order and classify the mass of incidents.  Since the material 
was not gathered in answer to any particular question, I was  
free to arrange it in any way that seemed to be genetically the  
most significant.  The classification adopted arose from a direct 
scrutiny of the records, directed by a sense of the children's  
continuous and living activity, rather than from any par-  
ticular theory of cognition.  It would not be possible for  
anyone who had lived with the children while these records  
were being made, and had felt the continuous impact of their  
minds upon things and events and each other, to rest content  
with any formal scheme of relations or relation-finding, of  
types of judgment or reasoning.  The children themselves  
compel us to look at the problem of cognition in terms of  
process, and of genetic history.  Their thought is active and  
prehensile.  It changes as their purposes change, and rests  
no longer in the static form of explicit judgment and inference  
than is momentarily needed for the momentary aim.  It moves  
continuously on, developing and growing as their practical  
and social situation' change and develop from moment to  
moment.  
   Within this continuous activity, certain broad types of  
behaviour may however be made out.  
   I.  The application of knowledge already possessed to new  
situations or problems.  This may take any one of a variety  
of forms.  
   A.  There may be (1) a formal and theoretical application,  
as when Tommy and Christopher had a conversation in the  
corner about steam.  Christopher said, "Steam's really water,  
but it's not the same as the steam of the bonfire".  Or when  
Dan tells Christopher that "it (the thermometer) goes up  
when you put it in hot (water), and down when you put  
it in cold" (Dan having used it the day before).
   Or (2) an imaginative construction which may or may not  
fall into the "if" form; as when Dan, hearing that the  
visitor from Australia was several weeks on the boat, says,  
"Then you'd have to have beds on the boat"; and learning  
that she had meals there too, "Then you'd have to have  
tables and chairs".  Or when Jessica says that "if they  
built castles as high as the sky, the aeroplanes would knock  
them down".  
   (3) Such acts of hypothesis and imaginative construction  
are closely related to a third type in which knowledge is  
dramatised and used in the service of make-believe or play;  
as when Paul looked in the mirror and said, "There's  
another Malting House School -- I can see the room and the  
people"; but added, "it's really the same school".  Or  
when Priscilla and Dan ran "in and out" on the spiral  
form of the snail's shell, drawn large on the floor.  
   (4) A fourth type within the same group is that of overt  
comparison and analogy, which are made quite freely by  
the children (a few only being recorded here); as when  
Christopher says of the bubbles rising from the bottom  
of a heated jar of water, "They dance like rain upon the  
ground".  
   B.  Again, the application of knowledge may be shown in  
practical insight and resource, rather than in theoretical or  
imaginative statement; as when several of the children  
drilled holes in the planks they wanted to use as toboggans  
in the snow, putting ropes through the holes to drag the  
planks with; or when Harold fastened the aeroplane he had  
made of bricks and plasticine to the end of the rope which  
hung down from the skylight, and so made it "fly" by  
swinging the rope.  
   II.  A second important type of behaviour is concerned  
with the direct increase of knowledge, in contrast to the appli- 
cation of what is known.  Here we find true experiment,  
observation and discovery in the children's handling of new  
situations.  Examples of this are:  "One of the children had  
brought in a glass jar full of snow, and put it on the hot-water 
pipes to melt it.  They kept going to look at it, and when it  
was melted said, `What a little bit of water it has made'."  
"Priscilla and Tommy tried to burn fragments of wool  
and cotton in the Bunsen flame, holding them on the point  
of the scissors, and saying that `wool doesn't burn so easily  
as cotton'." "Phineas ran out to play in the puddles of  
water after the thunderstorm, making channels for the water,  
and saying, `It's running away, it's running away'."  
"Tommy was watching Christopher use the household scales,  
weighing peas and beans.  Tommy said, `When that one  
goes down, this one goes up, and when this goes down, that  
goes up'."  
   III.  A third great group is the social interchange of  
knowledge, in what may be called cognitive intercourse.  
Within this we can roughly distinguish two sub-groups, which,  
however, differ only in emphasis:  
   A.  "Why's" and "because's", and other logical ques-  
tions, and reasoning; and  
   B.  Discussions, with corrections and self-corrections.  
Examples of A. are:  "Tommy said to Mrs.I., `I called  
that boy Frank' (pointing to George), `and he's not, is he?  
Because he has a different face'".  "Christopher said  
today, `When you explain a thing, you say it's like some-  
thing else'."  "Lena saw Mrs. I. trying to get some paint  
off her dress, and Mrs. I. told her that although she had had  
the dress a long time, she didn't want to spoil it. Lena said,  
`How long have you had it?'  Mrs. I., `Three years'.  
`Oh, then you must be three years old'."
   And instances of B. are:  "Looking at the picture of a  
whaling ship with smaller boats hung over the sides, one of  
the children said, `Those are the life-boats'.  `No', said  
Paul, `lifeboats don't be on the side of the ship, they are on  
the cliff in a long shed'."  And when Adam was threatening  
James with hostile expressions as to what he would do to  
James, "I'll go to a shop and I'll get all the guns and all the  
swords and all the knives there are in the shop, and I'll kill 
you", James replied with a laugh, "They don't sell those  
things to children".  
   There remain over a certain number of episodes which will  
not fit within any of these groups, and are too diverse to be  
classified easily.  They are therefore left in a miscellaneous  
group.  Among these is Dan's beautiful retort to Frank, when  
Frank told him, "Dan, yesterday I drank so much gas water  
that I nearly blew up to the sky".  Dan, immediately,  
"Frank, yesterday I ate so many potatoes that I nearly fell  
down to the ground!".  
   This gives us the scheme under which the various incidents  
have been grouped, as follows:  
   I.  Applications of knowledge.  
       A. 1.  Formal and theoretical application.  
          2.  Imaginative and hypothetical application.  
          3.  Make-believe and dramatised knowledge.  
          4.  Comparisons and analogies.  
       B.    Practical insight and resource.  
   II.  Increase of knowledge:  problems and experiment,  
          observation and discovery.  
   III.  Social interchange of knowledge.  
           A.  "Why's" and "because's" and other logical  
               questions, and reasoning.  
           B.  Discussions:  corrections and self-corrections.  
   IV.  Miscellaneous.  

Overlap.  These broad types of cognitive activity are by no  
means to be distinguished sharply.  Many of the incidents  
are quite difficult to assign definitely to one rather than another  
of these types, as the attentive reader will see.  And this fact  
is itself psychologically significant.  
   It means that the child's cognitive behaviour is not to be  
thought of as a set of single unit acts of relation-finding, but 
as a complex dynamic series of adaptive reactions and reflec-  
tions.  These crystallise out here and there into clear judgments 
or definite hypotheses or inferences, which, however, gain  
all their meaning from their place in the whole movement of  
the child's mind in its attempt to grasp and organise its  
experience.  The incidents grouped under II., as problems  
and experiment observation and discovery, are but the most  
striking examples of sustained attempts of this kind; and  
most of the items in III.A., logical questions and theoretical  
reasoning, actually occurred as incidents within a long series  
of practical manipulations.  They would probably never have  
arisen without this root.  
   At a later point we shall emphasise a similar striking over-  
lap between the more strictly cognitive processes of hypothesis  
and those of dramatised play and make-believe.  

Biological interests.  One possible misunderstanding must be  
guarded against.  The material given in this chapter leaves out  
discovery, reasoning and thought as these are shown in the  
pursuit of biological interests, and in the more usual school  
pursuits, such as arithmetic and mensuration.  The section is to 
this extent unrepresentative and incomplete, but the practical  
reasons for leaving it so seemed to be good ones.  The  
development of children's grasp of number and mensuration  
is now familiar ground, and to have included it here would  
have swollen the records beyond management.1 As regards  
the biological interests, the strictly cognitive behaviour of the
children in this direction would have fallen naturally under  
the headings of this section, and the reader will hardly need  
the aid of explicit classification to see these same mental pro-  
cesses at work there.  But there is a special interest in the  
children's activities in the biological field, i.e., the relation of  
the cognitive processes to feeling and action, and in particular 
the relation of curiosity and active interest to the impulses  
of cruelty and tenderness.  The educational bearings of these  
psychological facts also claimed our attention.  For these  
reasons, it seemed best to treat the material under the heading  
of biological interests along the lines adopted in that chapter, 
rather than to bring it in with the rest of the cognitive activities.  
But this difference in treatment is purely ad hoc, and justified 
only by the different purposes held in mind.  
   1 The records are full of such incidents as:  15.11.26.  Dan spon-  
taneously measured the circumference of the small room, asking  
Mrs. I. to help him hold the tape-measure.  He added up the number 
of inches, 599, and wrote this down in a note-book.  Soon after this,  
the children saw Mrs. I. sewing a new wrist-ribbon on her watch. 
They asked where she had got it and how much it cost. She told them  
she had bought two lengths at ninepence each, and Dan worked out 
how much that would come to, correctly.  Mrs. I. told him she had
paid with half-a-crown, and asked him how much change she had  
got.  After a little help in the way of getting the problem clearly
stated, he gave the correct answer.   
   It may be useful to give a few examples from the biological  
material of the more important groups of mental processes  
distinguished in this section.  
   I.  Applications of knowledge,  
   A.  (1) Formal and theoretical:  "Phineas found some  
scyllas, and called them `blue snowdrops'".  "When the  
children Were eating unripe apples, Harold and Paul said  
several times that their daddy had told them that if they did  
that they `would be poisoned'."  
   (2) Imaginative and hypothetical:  "When the children  
had been looking at the human skeleton together with anatom-  
ical diagrams of the muscles and circulatory system, Dan  
said, `Oh, I would like to see a man with his skin off, alive,  
walking about, and then I could watch what happened and  
see the blood'".  "When feeding and cleaning the mice  
today, the children noticed that one or two of the females  
had grown very fat, and could hardly get through their holes  
into the open part of the cage.  They spoke of this, and  
the elder ones said, perhaps they're going to have some  
babies'."  "After one of a pair of rabbits had died, Dan  
and Jane told Mrs. I. that the companion rabbit was now  
much better.  She asked, `Is he fatter?'  as he had been  
extremely thin.  They said he was, and added, `Perhaps  
Pamela (the dead rabbit) used to eat all the food and he got  
none'."  
   (3) Make-believe and dramatised knowledge:  "The chil-  
dren found a piece of sheep's jawbone with some teeth.  They  
recognised that they were teeth, but did not know the animal.  
Duncan said, `Perhaps it's a horse, and perhaps a tiger.  I've  
seen a tiger's bones in Cambridge with all the flesh off'.  
Frank ran into the schoolroom with the jawbone in his hand,  
saying, `They're tiger's teeth', and pretended to bite the  
others with them".  "After the death of the rabbit, Duncan  
called out, for fun, on seeing the puppy lying on the grass  
in the sun, `Oh! the puppy's dead'.  The children laughed  
hay when the puppy got up and ran at them".  "Dan  
pretended to be a crocodile, pulling his mouth out at the side  
with his fingers.  Christopher and Priscilla made a bed for  
the crocodile, and kept him in their house.  Later on Mrs. I,  
was `the keeper', and they bought him from her, but he  
would not stay with them as they did not give him enough  
to eat, nor food of the right kind, nor any water and so on. 
Each time they went out for a walk he ran away and came  
back to his keeper, making a loud noise with his mouth as  
if he were hungry.  He kept this play up. refusing to speak  
or behave as other than a crocodile, for a long time."  
   (4) Comparison and analogy:  When Christopher was  
watching the new-born mice, he said, "They look like little  
pigs".  
   B.  Practical insight and resource:  "Dan and Conrad  
dictated a letter to a grown-up to-day, to the Zoo, asking `the  
people at the Zoo to let them have any dead animals they  
had, to cut them up'".  "The children had put another  
rabbit in the same hutch as Pat, and the two had fought  
fiercely.  There was therefore a discussion as to whether the  
rabbit called Pat were male or female, and Priscilla said,  
`Why don't you look?'  They did so, and decided it was  
a male."  "More baby rabbits had been born, and all were  
dead.  The children thought the father had killed them, and  
said `horrid Bernard', and `Lets take the father away  
altogether so that he can't do that'.  Jane remarked, `But  
then we shouldn't have any more babies.  Let's take him  
away soon.'"
   II.  Observation and discovery:  "Jessica spontaneously  
remarked on a yellow patch on the lawn where a table had  
been upturned and left for some time".  "After the children  
and Mrs. I. had fed the hen, the children felt the warmth  
of the eggs, and Frank said he would like to see the inside of  
one.  They cracked one into a cup, and the children saw the  
embryonic blood-vessels with great interest."  "Harold found  
a woodlouse which curled itself up into a ball, and the children 
held it on their hands until it uncurled.  They noted its many  
legs, its feelers, and the way it walked about."  "The  
children looked at the caterpillars in the tin boxes, and noticed 
that those which had been put into boxes without any holes  
were dead.  They gathered more caterpillars, and put them  
into boxes, with leaves.  George was very interested, and  
spoke of the size, colour, etc."  
   III.A.  "Whys" and "becauses" and reasoning:  When  
Frank looked at the germinating mustard seeds, to see "the  
way they're growing", he said, "The leaves must have been  
inside the seeds".  Seeing Mrs. I. and the children put the  
eggs under the hen to hatch, Priscilla asked, "Why do you  
put them under her?"  "When modelling, Frank asked  
Mrs. I. to model a plasticine jar for the gold-fish; he filled  
it with water, and put the gold-fish in it.  Presently he said,  
`Oh, it's dying',1 and ran to put fresh water in the glass jar  
and transfer it.  Duncan said, `Yes, it's dying because it's  
poisoned with the plasticine'."  "When Miss C. and the  
children were putting eggs under the sitting lien, James asked  
several times whether they could eat the eggs after the chickens 
had come out.  Miss C. said, `What do you think?' and  
after pressing her for an answer, he volunteered, `When the  
chickens come out, the shells will be broken'.  Miss C. said,  
`Will there be anything left in the egg then?'  `No.'  
`Then will you be able to eat them?'  `Of course not',  
he said, `because there won't be anything to eat', adding.  
`They're the same eggs as we eat, aren't they?'"   "Phineas  
and Lena looked at the growing mustard and cress, and were  
surprised to see how much they had grown.  Phineas asked,  
`What makes them grow?  Does the water?'"  
   III.B. Corrections and self-corrections:  "Frank and  
Dan dug a large hole in the lawn, and poured water into it.  
They put a flower in the water, and said, `It's a water-lily'.  
Tommy said scornfully, `It's not a water-lily'".  "Tommy  
insisted on taking a worm out of water when the others put  
it in, protesting, `They don't live in water, they don't live  
in water'."  "The children were watching Mrs. I dissect  
a mouse that had died of a tumour.  Phineas asked, `Why  
has it got that lump?'  And again, several times, `How  
did it die?  Has it got that because it's dead?'  Priscilla  
laughed and said, `It died because it had the lump, but  
Phineas said the other way round, didn't he?'"  
   Returning now to the records given in this section, it will  
be seen that I have not tried to sort them out with regard to  
the age-groups of the children.  The total number of children  
(twenty-five) mentioned in this part of the records is clearly  
much too small to make any such attempt significant, and the  
period of mental life covered (i.e., two to seven-and-a-half  
years, if the exceptional case of Jane, the ten-year-old, is  
left out), must therefore be considered as a whole, so far  
as group phenomena are concerned.  As regards individual  
children, however, the mental history can be followed through  
if desired, using the date of each event and the ages quoted.  

1 This was, of course, pure phantasy.  

The individual histories of several of the children are to form 
the subject of a third volume and these will cover every 
aspect of their behaviour and their development.

B.  THE RELATION BETWEEN MATURATION AND EXPERIENCE.
   Taking these records as a whole, then, the first impression 
which the unsophisticated reader receives is that the cognitive 
behaviour of little children, even in these early years, is after 
all very much like our own in general outline of movement.  
Allowing for the immense difference in knowledge and exper-
ience, they go about their business of understanding the world 
and what happens to them in it, very much as we do ourselves. 
And, contrary to some current opinions about them, they do 
show a lively and sustained interest in real physical events.
To take the issues more systematically, this material would 
seem to throw a certain amount of light upon those funda-
mental problems of mental development which can be summed 
up in terms of the relation between maturation and experience.  
This question is clearly one of central importance for both 
theory and practice,since we can only create the most favour-
able environment when we know how far and in what ways 
environment as such is able to affect the course of development.
   If we stress maturation in mental growth too strongly, and 
treat it too readily as a literal organic fact (of the same order 
as the facts of embryology) we are likely both to over- 
emphasise the difference between children and ourselves, and 
to under-estimate the part played by experience in their 
development.  The behaviour of my group of little children 
would seem to suggest both that the general modes of their 
thought are not fundamentally different from our own 
(although, of course, important differences do remain); and 
that the experiences which a particular environment offers 
them do enter powerfully into their concrete ways of response.
   It would in fact, I suggest, he well if maturation where 
looked upon as a limiting concept (as it largely is with such
psychologists as Burt and Spearman), and strictly confined 
to those aspects of growth which cannot be shown to be a 
function of experience.We should be extremely chary of 
attributing to it any particular ways of behaviour which 
characterise any given children at particular ages, except 
upon the basis of searching comparative studies of children 
in the most widely varying circumstances.
   Now it seems to me that this essential precaution is not  
always kept in sight by those who seek to decipher the course  
of development in the mental life of children.  One of the  
most important and impressive recent contributors to genetic  
psychology, Jean Piaget, is certainly open to some criticism  
on this point.  His views on the development of the child's  
language and thought, judgment and reasoning, and con-  
ception of the world, constitute the most arresting modern  
statement of the theory of maturation, and one to which every  
child psychologist must largely orientate his own work for the  
present.  But Piaget's conclusions are, I think, lessened in  
their final value because he does not use the concept of  
maturation (which he expresses as the "structure" of the  
child's mind at different ages) sparingly enough nor critically  
enough.  He thus comes to attribute to maturation certain  
phenomena which can be shown to be to a real extent a  
function of experience.   
   It is on these issues that the behaviour of this group may  
be able to throw some further light.  These records would  
seem to suggest that certain interests and certain ways of  
handling experience which Piaget considers to belong to a  
more mature stage of growth are actually found in much  
younger children under suitable conditions, and become  
specially frequent under the particular conditions of this  
group.  The records, even from so small a group, have value  
therefore as direct positive evidence against Piaget's negative 
evidence that such forms of cognitive behaviour do not appear  
until later years.  And they support the view that these forms  
of response are in large part a function of the environment  
rather than of the process of maturation.  
   The importance of this issue for the practical problems of  
the education of young children is as great as its theoretical  
interest for psychology itself.  Before more fully considering  
my material in relation to Piaget's views, however, it will be  
helpful to look at the more general aspects of the relation  
between maturation and experience.  

I.  GENERAL ASPECTS OF THE PROBLEM  

General intelligence.  The relation between maturation and  
experience is the form to which the ancient quarrel about the  
relative importance of nature and nurture in development has 
been reduced in recent years. The issues in the controversy  
are now far clearer and more specific than ever before.  It is  
now pretty certain, for instance, that nature is all-powerful in 
fixing the level of intelligence or general mental ability to  
which any one of us attains.  It is also reasonably well estab-  
lished that throughout the years of growth this innate general  
ability keeps with each of us a practically constant relation  
with the norm for our age; and that none by taking thought  
can add a cubit to his stature.1  
  Not only so.  The view can be taken that nature not only  
gives the original measure of general ability, but has also the  
main voice in decreeing its forms of expression in the suc-  
cessive periods of development.   This is suggested by the  
very fact that norms of development can be discovered for  
each age, holding good irrespective of the wide ranges of  
individual experience.   That is to say, the differences between 
the mental operations possible at, say, two and seven and  
twelve years of age respectively, are in some sense the result  
of a process of maturation.   This would seem to be the most  
natural way of looking at such familiar facts as, for instance,  
that children of six or seven years of age will reply to the  
question "What is a . . . ?" by saying what the thing  
does.  "What is a chair?  A chair is to sit on."  A  
knife?  A knife is to cut with."  Snails?  You squash  

  1 This is now such familiar ground that it is hardly necessary to  
adduce evidence or authorities.   See, however:  
  C.  Spearman.   The Nature of `Intelligence' and Principles 
ofCognition.

Macmillan.  1923.   
  Do.   The Abilities of Man.   Macmillan, 1927.   
  C.  Burt.  Distribution of Educational Abilities.   P. S. King & Sons. 
1917.   
  Do.   Mental and Scholastic Tests.   P.  S.  King & Sons.   1922.   
  P.  B.  Ballard.   Mental Tests.   Hodder & Stoughton.   1920.   
  A.  Gesell.   Infancy and Human Growth.   Macmillan.   1928.   
  Also the forthcoming monograph by E. Lawrence.   An  Investigation  
into
the Relation between Intelligence and Inheritance.  (In the press.)  
On the basis of a comparative study of institution and orphan  
children and a control group of children in ordinary homes, Miss 
Lawrence concludes: "The discovery of a correlation between the  
intelligence of children and the social class of their parents, 
when they have never, seen those parents, is fairly conclusive 
evidence  
that the correlation so generally found for children in their own 
homes is not mainly due to the direct social influences of the home,  
but is a genuinely biological fact.  The association is on the whole  
rather smaller, however, in the case of institution children, and 
there  
is little doubt that environmental conditions have some weight in 
influencing the response to tests".  
them so that they won't eat the lettuces."  Whereas at eleven  
or twelve, they will, in response to the same question, define  
clearly and explicitly in the sense of the logician but not  
until fourteen are they able to deal formally with abstract  
definitions, such as "What is justice?"
  Or again,1 that the child at seven years can deal success-  
fully with concrete relations of degree such as: Kate is  
cleverer than May.  May is cleverer than Jane.  Who is  
the cleverest, Jane, Kate or May?  Whereas they cannot  
until twelve years of age grasp the particular spatial relations 
involved in such a problem as:  

     I started from the church and walked 100 yards.   
     I turned to the right and walked 50 yards.   
     I turned to the right again and walked 100 yards.   
        How far am I from the church?  

  And it is not until the mental age of fourteen that they can  
answer such a problem as:  

     John said:  "I heard my clock strike yesterday, ten  
   minutes before the first gun fired.  I did not count the  
   strokes, but I am sure it struck more than once, and I  
   think it struck an odd number".  John was out all the  
   morning from the earliest hours: and his clock stopped  
   at five to five the same afternoon.   
     When do you think the first gun fired?  

  These progressive changes from year to year in the problems  
which can be successfully dealt with can, then, be looked  
upon as in some sense a process of maturation, since they  
are (as measured by standardised tests) to a great extent  
independent of the variable elements in experience, such as  
education and circumstance.  But the most striking ground  
for regarding them in this way is the fact that they come to  
an end at or about fourteen years.  Thereafter, the content  
of the mind can be added to very considerably, new fields  
of knowledge can be taken up, and growing familiarity with  
their subject-matter can bring relative ease and mastery in  
moving about within them.  But no matter what experience  
may bring, the level of intelligence reached at fourteen (or  
at the latest sixteen) years will (apparently) not change nor  
advance.   

  1 C.  Burt.  Handbook Of Tests.  P. S. King & Sons.  1923.   

Older views of maturation.  The concept of maturation and  
the view that mental growth is to a large extent dependent  
upon such a process, is of course a very old one.  Some of its  
earlier forms have, however, been very largely superseded.   
The most familiar of these are, first, the one which Burt has  
recently called the "stratigraphical" view,1 which held that  
mental development proceeds in a series of layers -- first sense  
perception, then motor development, then memory, then  
reasoning, and so on and the recapitulatory view, which  
averred that the child repeats in his individual development  
the biological phases of the mental growth of the human race.   
& more recent and still widely held variant of this is the  
culture epoch theory, which believes it can see a parallel  
between the child's growth and the successive types of culture  
in the history of peoples.   
  The stratigraphical theory, in its old form, has of course  
no open adherents in psychology nowadays, since the faculty  
psychology on which it throve has long been given up.  It  
dived its final coup de grace in Spearman's analysis of  
mental operations,2 which showed so clearly their essential  
unity of movement.  Yet its less explicit traces arc by no  
means all removed from current thought about mental develop-  
ment particularly in educational psychology.  They tend to  
act in a negative way, as in the wide-spread implicit assump-  
tion that little children cannot "reason".  The material  
bred in this book will perhaps help to destroy the lingering  
influence of this discredited view, and its bad effect on  
educational practice.   
  Those who saw something attractive in the recapitulatory  
theory were usually careful to warn us that we must not take  
this too literally, and that it was true only on the broadest  
lines.  There is no one-to-one relation between the details of  
the two developmental series --  evolution of the race and  
the growth of the individual -- only a broad general pattern  
  
  1 In his memorandum on "Mental Characteristics from Seven to  
Eleven Plus", prepared for the Consultative Committee of the Board  
of Education, which I had the privilege of seeing in typescript. The  
views Professor Burt develops in this memorandum as to the strati-  
graphical and recapitulatory theories are in complete accordance 
with  
my own as stated here.   

  1 C.  Spearman.  The Nature of Intelligence and the Principles of 
Cognition.   

in common.  Probably the reservations of these writers have  
never in fact gone nearly far enough, and it is by no means  
clear that the view has ever yielded any great and strictly  
psychological illumination of the facts of mental development  
in human beings.   
  The now more fashionable form of the theory, the "culture-  
epoch" view, gets even less adventitious support from the  
biologists.  It rests essentially upon the doctrine of the inheri- 
tance of acquired characters; and biologists, of course, reject  
this doctrine in the crude form which the culture-epoch theory  
demands.   
  Yet the counterfeit applications of this theory are still often
able to pass current for the true coin of psychological fact.   
It is this which has, for instance, blinded us to the direct  
interest of the quite small child in what goes on around him  
in the home and the streets of to-day.   According to the  
culture-epoch theory, all small boys ought to be much more  
interested in farming and horses than in engines and motor-  
cars and trains; although no one who has paid a visit to a  
railway station with a boy of any age over two years can  
think that that is in fact true.  And the view has sometimes  
been applied with naive literalness, particularly in liberal and 
progressive schools, to the teaching of history.  The children  
must first learn about primitive man in the stone age, and  
then about agriculture, and so on.  And this again, usually  
without any reference to what the boy is looking at and  
learning and doing spontaneously in his out-of-school hours,  
among the direct experiences of a life in an industrial city  
or great commercial centre because a thing came early in  
human cultural development, it must therefore be easier and  
more interesting for the twentieth century boy, than the motors  
and tractors and electric road drills and aeroplanes and  
dynamos of his own world.  Yet these, as we can see any  
day, hold his breathless attention and provoke his question'  
about their ways of working and their changes in form and  
how these came about and what the first ones were like, thus  
preparing the ground for concrete historical studies of human  
arts and appliances and social life.   
  Even today, we need to apply very stringently to our  
theories of psychological development the reservations which  
embryologists make as to recapitulation in the womb.  They  
insist that many of the facts which characterise the development 
of the embryo are direct functions of uterine life, having  
very little if anything to do with phylogeny.  And it is more  
than likely that most of the characteristics of individual mental 
history are direct functions of social life, bearing little if any  
crude relation to mental development in the race.  It is at  
least of the highest importance that we should first gather our  
psychological facts, before preparing this or any other mould  
into which to force them.   

Experimental evidence as to the course of development.   
Fortunately, we need no longer be content with seductive  
theories.  A very large body of concrete and objective facts  
about children's mental activities at all aged, and in varied  
fields of mental life, has been brought together in recent years 
by the technique of mental tests.  What is new, therefore, in  
the concept of maturation as it can now be held is our objective 
and quantitative knowledge of the actual course of mental  
development -- and the progressive refinement of our technical  
instruments for adding to this knowledge, and elaborating its  
details.  There are many details yet to be filled in, and not all 
the years of growth are equally well understood.  The middle  
period from, say, six or seven to twelve or fourteen years,  
is in some respects the most fully explored -- since it falls  
within the purview of the most successfully standardised tests.   
The earliest years are as yet perhaps the least known, at any  
rate on the intellectual side; but the technique for their  
objective study is being rapidly improved.1 And the psycho-  
logical situation as a whole is very different from what it was  
in the days when the recapitulatory and culture-epoch theories  
were enounced.   
  The most striking aspect of the average curve of mental  
development on the intellectual side is that, as Ballard has  
recently remarked, "it has always been found of the same  
nature.  It is smooth and continuous.  There is no break  
anywhere no plateau, no steep ascent, no sudden change  
of direction".2  That is not to say, of course, that the develop-  
ment of any particular child is smooth and unbroken.   The  
  
  1 A.  Gesell.  Infancy and Human Growth; and The Mental Growth 
of the Pre-School Child.   

  2 P. B.  Ballard.   The Psychological Aspects of the Break at 
Eleven Years of Age." Report of Seventeenth Annual Conference of 
Educational Associations.   

curve of development exhibits a rhythm which is irregular  
and is different in almost every child that is examined." But  
there are no general breaks or crises, at any point.   
  The old stratigraphical notion was not of course without  
its bare modicum of truth.  The higher synthetic abilities  
necessarily rest upon the lower.  Abstract reasoning, for  
example, cannot operate in a vacuum, but only upon the  
material given to it by experience.   
  It must therefore to some extent wait upon the development  
of perception, as perception in its turn, upon a certain sensory 
acuity and motor dexterity.  But the latter dependence holds  
true only in the very earliest stages of mental life; and all  
these broad levels and types of mental process have a very  
considerable overlap at any actual period of development.  In  
so far as characteristic phases of development can be dis-  
cerned, they merge into each other imperceptibly; and they  
belong to the field of specific abilities, not that of general  
intelligence.1  The fact that, at any rate until puberty, the  
inter-correlations of all intellectual activities are very high,  
makes it clear that development is very far from being an  
affair of the successive appearance of a number of isolated  
functions or faculties.  The central factor remains dominant  
throughout the period of growth.   
  
Neogenesis.  The full significance of these facts has, of course, 
been brought out by Spearman in his theoretical work upon  
cognition.   He has shown the fundamental unity of all processes  
of knowing, whether they take the perceptual, the imaginative,  
the conceptual or the deductive forms.  The essential act of  
  
  1 Improvement in acuity of vision, for example, goes on until  
puberty; acuity of bearing may be mature by seven years, but  
discrimination of pitch may improve until puberty.  Touch dis-  
crimination degenerates after 7-8 years, owing to increasing 
thickness  
of the skin, not to mental factors.  The muscle sense improves 
through-  
out adolescence, and motor dexterity continues to grow until adult  
life.  Improvement in the scope of attention is continuous throughout  
childhood; so is improvement in memory.  The notion that children 
have "better memories" than adults is now quite given up, save as 
regards pure "rote" retention.  And as for reasoning, while this  
does not occur in its most "abstract" forms until perhaps twelve  
years, it is found in its more concrete expressions at every age, 
from  
at let four years onwards, or earlier.  And its concrete forms merge 
into the abstract" types.   
cognition lies in the "seeing" or educing either of relations  
or of their correlates, upon the basis of the direct "appre-  
hension of experience".  The recognition of the relations of  
shapes and sizes and qualities and intensities in perception,  
and the adjustment of movement to situation in practical skill, 
involve these "neogenetic principles" either implicitly or  
explicitly, no less than mathematical reasoning, the creation or 
appreciation of a symphony, or the framing and verification of  
a theory.   "Not a cognitive operation can be performed, from  
the loftiest flight of genius down to the prattle in the nursery, 
but that it resolves itself wholly into these same principles  
with their ensuing processes.   And all this is no less true  
of the so-called `practical' doings, which common opinion  
naively supposes to constitute some separate domain."1  
  At one age the intelligent child imitates a vertical or a  
horizontal stroke with pencil on paper; at another he makes  
a successful comparison of two weights; and at another, he  
can tell us what is the missing part in the picture of a face.   
To take some of our own individual examples:  At 3;I,  
"Martin dropped the paintbox and said, `Did you hear it?  
It made a loud noise, just like guns make a loud noise'".   
At 5;3, "Frank asked, `Couldn't we arrange all the tables  
in a polygon?'"  At 3;9, "Phineas tried to knock a nail  
into the metal handle of the door. . . .  When he found  
he could not do it, he said, ` Perhaps it's made of stone'".  
At 5;3, Harold noticing the washer on the tap, said, "You  
have that on hot-water bottles too".  And at 3;9, "At tea,  
Denis said, `The bread's buttered already, isn't it?  so if we  
want it without butter we can't, can we? -- unless we 'crape  
it off wiv a knife .  .  .  and if we want it without butter  
and don't want to 'crape it off wiv a knife, we have to  
eat it wiv butter, don't we?'"  In each case, the child's  
cognitive act is similar in its most essential character to his  
later acts of understanding, of reasoning, or of practical  
organisation, as a historian, a scientist or a man of affairs.   
Each proceeds, in so far as new knowledge or a new application  
of knowledge is achieved, by the education of relations or their 
correlates; and in each, taken in relation to the age of the  
thinker, his general ability will be revealed.   
  
  1 C, Spearman.   The Nature of `Intelligence' and the 
Principles of Cognition, p.  353.   

Continuity.  Spearman has also reminded us how often there  
is a continual transition from mere perception to "what  
deserves to be called thought":  as, for instance, when, in  
trying to solve the maze test, "a person is faced with lines,  
turns, gaps, blind alleys and the like, that present unlimitedly 
entangled relations for him to unravel.  He may, perhaps,  
tell you he is looking how to get in but he is almost as  
likely to say he is thinking how to do so".  Or as in the  
appreciation of music, where listening is thinking and thinking  
is listening.   
  A beautiful illustration of this transition is given in Tommy's 
behaviour on 17.10.24 (2;8):  "The children had been  
carrying water out into the garden in cans and jugs, and   
there were some damp feet, Mrs.  I.  said, `No more to-day'.
Tommy was doleful when Mrs.  I.  would not let him take  
more, and passing back through the schoolroom, he saw the  
vases on the tables, full of flowers.  Without saying anything,  
he put down his can on the floor, and took each of the four  
vases in turn, lifting the flowers out, pouring the water into  
his can, and putting the flowers back, and the vase back on  
the table.  He then walked out into the garden smiling, and  
saying to the others, `Tommy has some water now.!'"  
  This behaviour, which at first sight might seem simple and  
obvious, was certainly for the child's age a cognitive act of  
a fairly high order.  On first reading the incident, one is  
strongly reminded of Kohler's chimpanzees and their prac-  
tical insight in somewhat similar situations.1  But Tommy's  
act, whilst essentially practical shows a higher degree of  
synthetic ability than most of the chimpanzees' solutions.   
For whilst he could see the vases with flowers in them, he  
could not see the actual water, the jars not being transparent.   
For this, the only relevant point about the jars, he drew  
appropriately and instantly upon knowledge already held,  
having once or twice helped to fill the vases and put the  
flowers in.  The cognitive act lay in bringing together the  
single significant element in what he perceived, with his empty  
pail and his need for water in it.  And there was no prepara-  
tory fumbling.  It is most likely that this was a perceptual,  
not a ratiocinative act of eduction.   He "saw" a whole  
object.  vase-with-flowers-in-water, and was able swiftly to  
  
  1 Kohler.   The Mentality of Apes.   Kegan Paul.   

select the single element in this whole which was relevant to  
his immediate problem, without ever setting out the process  
into verbalised or explicit relational steps.  
  
Noetic synthesis. In the light of these actual facts of develop-
mental history, and of the theories of cognition to which they  
have given birth, the process of intellectual maturation no  
longer wears the air of a mysterious or mystic happening.  We  
are able to see that it shows, not a pseudo-biological sequence, 
totally independent of experience, but a strictly psychological  
coherence of growth, into which experience is taken up more  
and more adequately.  
  Maturation is in the first instance undoubtedly an affair of  
increase in the depth, breadth and range of synthetic ability,  
or noetic synthesis.  Burt considers this noetic synthesis to  
be "the main intellectual difference" between the child of  
seven and the one of fourteen.  As he points out in discussing  
the span of attention, improvement lies in the growing ability  
to group disparate items into a more and more complex whole.  
So with regard to deductive reasoning:  "What limits the  
child is not an inability to apprehend logical relations, but  
inability to deal with ideational systems of more than a low  
degree of complexity".  
  I would suggest that the growth of noetic synthesis character- 
ises development at all ages, and can be seen in the progressive 
articulation even of perception in the very young child, as  
well as in the rise and elaboration of concepts.  
  
  
Specific differences.  In addition to this ripening of synthetic 
ability, the results of some tests so far suggest that there may 
be a second aspect of maturation, viz., a certain specificity in 
the logical operations possible at different ages.  For example,  
it appears that the logical relation of subject and attribute is the  
easiest and earliest to be grasped; and after this, the synthesis 
of degree is achieved.  Spatial relations are mastered long  
before relations of time, and some observers would assert that  
relations of causality are the last to be apprehended; but on  
this question, which we shall take up later, there are many  
points at issue.  
   Yet even these specific differences are by no means atomic.  
Some of them hang quite closely together with others.  Take,  
for example, the fact that not until ten years of age can a  
child arrange a series of five boxes of equal size and different 
weights in serial order.  There is no difficulty here of sensory  
discrimination, for the weights may differ by the same degree  
as the pair discriminated successfully at five years.  The  
problem is one, as Burt again points out, of noetic synthesis.  
But, of course, the child would have no difficulty in arranging  
the five boxes in a serial order of size.  The present problem  
involves the comparison of successive experiences of different  
modality, which therefore cannot be taken up in a single  
act of prehension, but involve a series of imaginative recon-  
structions, and a complicated hierarchy of implicit or explicit
relation-building.  This problem of grading five weights is  
thus closely related to the synthesis of time relations in the  
level of the demands which it makes.  
   And here I come back to the point where I suggested that  
there was a modicum of truth in the "stratigraphical" view  
of development.  I pointed out that the higher levels of intel-  
lectual synthesis necessarily rest upon the lower.  Directed  
imagination must follow upon perception, since it revives  
selectively certain elements in what has been perceived, rele-  
vantly to some present concern.  And "thought" involves  
the relational handling of what is imagined with the same  
facility with which perceptual data are handled in the  
"practical judgment".  
   Again, words represent a further development of the selec-  
tive action of intelligence upon what is experienced; and  
"abstract reasoning" a similar facility in the handling of  
relations among concepts as has already been attained on the  
concrete levels of synthesis in perception and imagination.  
   The handling of time relations, or of any which depend  
upon the succession of events, must thus necessarily develop  
later (relatively to the same degree of abstraction) than  
the handling of spatial relations, since the former involves  
imaginative reconstructions, and the latter rests more directly  
upon immediate perception.  
   The concrete changes of mental growth, thus, do show an  
internal and strictly psychological coherence.  There is a pro-  
gressive hierarchy in the synthesis of experience, the higher  
and more abstract relations pre-supposing and building upon 
the lower.  And it may well turn out, at no distant date, that  
this coherence is even more closely knit than appears at  
present.  It may well be, for instance, that even the specificity 
of the operations possible at different ages will very largely  
disappear, as experimental work carries further the analysis  
of particular relations.  Spearman has already been able to  
show that at twelve to thirteen years of age, "differences in  
kind of relation have a surprisingly small effect on the amount 
of correlation with g".1 Now it seems to be quite possible  
that the apparent differences in the age at which particular  
relations can be dealt with are really due to differences in  
the degree of concreteness and in complexity of the tests  
actually used; and that with a wider variety of more carefully  
graded tests, the kind of relation handled will have less influ- 
ence than the degree of concreteness and complexity of its  
instances used in the tests.  This is clearly a matter for  
experimental investigation, and so long ago as 1919 Burt's  
study of the development of reasoning in school children led  
him to conclude that:  "All the elementary mental mechanisms  
essential to formal reasoning are present before the child leaves 
the infants' department, i.e., by the mental age of seven, if  
not somewhat before.  Development consists primarily in an  
increase in the extent and variety of the subject-matter to  
which those mechanisms can be applied, and in an increase  
in the precision and elaboration with which those mechanisms  
can operate.  The difficulty of a test depends upon its com-  
plexity. . . .  The precise nature of the connections --   
temporal, spatial, numerical, causal, etc. -- and of their inter-  
connection -- hypothetical, disjunctive, etc. -- are of relatively  
little importance".2  
   Spearman's analysis of the existing evidence on the problem  
leads strongly in the same direction.3 And in a striking  
passage dealing with the question of abstractness, he sums  
up the process of growth:  "The explanation of the whole  
matter, then, seems to be that all cognitive growth -- whether  
by eduction of relations or by that of correlates -- consists in  
a progressive clarification; the mental content emerges out  
  
1 C. Spearman.  The Abilities of Man, p. 201.  
2 C. Burt.   "The Development at Reasoning in School Children."  
The Journal of Experimental Pedagogy, V., 2 and 3.  June and  
December, 1919.  
3 lbid., pp. 206-208.  

of a state of utter indistinguishability and ascends into ever  
increasing distinguishability.  So soon as any item of mental  
content has become sufficiently clear and distinguishable, then  
and then only it admits of being abstracted that is to say.  
it can be `intended' apart from its context.  And when  
this happens, it can be thought of separately and given a  
name.  This clarification may be likened to the ripening of  
a fruit; abstraction, to its consequent eventual falling from  
the stalk".1  
   In so far as the specificity of the various relations does  
remain, maturation functions as the ripening of specific  
abilities.   To this, however, Hazlitt has offered us a possible  
alternative.  
  
Factor of Interest.  She begins by stating convincingly the  
fundamental unity of cognitive processes, in a slightly variant  
and most illuminating form of expression.  For her, "intelli-  
gence is the problem-solving organisation of the mind,"2 and  
the general factor in intelligence is the degree to which expen- 
ences influence one another, or are confluent.  This confluence  
operates on any or all of the different levels of mental life, 
sensory, imaginative, conceptual; the one essential being the  
presence of a problem to be solved.  "For the infant, the  
recognition of a simple sensory experience may involve a  
problem, and therefore the activity of intelligence."3  "The  
first organising act of the child differs in no way from that  
involved in the profoundest discovery of the scientist or the  
philosopher."4  
   And she goes on:  "There is no development of a process;  
there is merely the acquisition of experience which, according  
to the innate grade of intelligence of the individual, can inter-  
act more or less with other experience. . . . Until the child  
has reached the adolescent stage he does not develop all the  
interests of the adult.  This means that before this period there 
are gaps in his experience which make intelligent action in  
certain spheres, and with regard to certain matters, impossible. 

1 C. Spearman.  The Abilities of Man, p. 216.  
2 V. Hazlitt.  Ability.  Methuen.  1926.  p. 24.  
3 Ibid., p. 10.  
4 Ibid., p. 41.  

As soon as these gaps are filled, there is no greater distinction 
between the adult and the adolescent than there is between  
one adult and another".1  
   It is possible that the development of those ways of handling  
experience, which we regard as more mature -- abstract rela-  
tions, causal reasoning, and so on -- are partly a function of  
interest just as taking up a particular field of experience is  
partly a matter of interest.  In other words, if the intelligent  
child be the problem-solving child, then what happens is that  
his interest passes rapidly from the more obvious to the more  
subtle structures of experience, each mastered relation in turn  
becoming a new "fundament" for his constructive activity.  
The less intelligent child is content with the simpler and more  
obvious ways of handling the data of experience.  
   If one watches the spontaneous cognitive behaviour of  
children of different intellectual ability, one does get the sense  
that this factor of interest is at work.  With such a child as  
Denis, for example (quoted in the body of the text, and in  
Appendix C), one sees his interest constantly carrying him  
to reflective considerations which escape the notice of his elder 
brother.  As, for instance, in the incident given on p. 357.  
"A few days ago, a discussion about being `early' or `late'  
for school arose at the breakfast table.  James (7;10), to his  
mother, was grumbling about `the fuss people make about  
getting up early, and things'.  Denis (6;1), with his charac-  
teristically slow speech but penetrating thought, said, `Early  
and late aren't things.  They're not things like tables and  
chairs and cup -- things you can model!'"  
   Or again, in the spontaneous reflection of Dan (6;2) that  
"a thing can't be nowhere -- it must be somewhere if it's a  
thing at all", we have another instance of the interest in  
the less common-place and matter-of-fact aspects of experience  
which the more intelligent children show.  Or, once more, 
in the equally spontaneous remark of Christopher (5:2), to  
the effect that "when you explain a thing, you say it's like  
something else".  
   Support has again been given to this view of the functional  
value of interest, by Ballard, in the paper already quoted.  
He says, "There are good grounds for thinking that children's  
interest in reasoning, as distinct from their capacity to reason, 
begins to show itself about the age of eleven.  It is a curious

1 V. Hazlitt.  Ability.  Methuen.  1926.  p. 42  

fact that Binet's five absurdity tests, simple and obvious though 
they are, baffle the bulk of children under ten years of age.  
Yet an examination of Burt's Reasoning Scale indicates that  
there is no marked increase in reasoning capacity at that stage. 
My belief is (a belief partly based on my experience in trying  
to teach children Euclid in days gone by) that with adolescence  
comes not so much an enhanced capacity to reason, as an  
interest in rational as distinct from empirical explanations".1 
   I shall return to this problem of interest later on.  
  
Maturation as a limiting concept.  It may, then, be agreed  
that the maturation of intelligence is mainly expressed in
the growth of noetic synthesis, which reaches its highest  
point in any particular child at or about fourteen years.  
Yet, as I suggested earlier, if the concept of maturation  
is to be psychologically useful, we must be careful to  
confine it strictly to those elements in mental growth which  
cannot be shown to be a function of experience.  The more  
mature forms of expression of intelligence, as ordinarily  
measured, are dependent upon experience in a real sense.  
They do not appear where the relevant experience is altogether  
denied -- any more than the plant starved of light can come to  
normal maturity.  Canal-boat and gipsy children and illiterates  
do not reach "abstract" thought nor find facility on the  
verbal level; although a reliable series of performance tests  
may be able to show that some of them may have sufficient g  
to make it certain that they would do so if they had the chance. 
As Hazlitt suggests, intelligence might well be described as the 
ability to make use of experience.  The greater the intelligence, 
the more fully is the material offered by experience worked  
over and organised and assimilated.  The actual expression  
of native ability within any actual field (including that of  
the verbal and "abstract" forms of mental process) does  
therefore always depend to some extent upon opportunity  
and experience.2  It is only within a common field of equal  
experience that individual differences due to intelligence alone 
can be seen.  
  
1 P.B. Ballard.  Op. cit.  
2 There is no need to point out here the extent to which the Binet-
Simon scale, for instance, draws upon the effect of schooling.  These
tests are chiefly useful in sorting out children who have had the 
opportunity of developing ease in verbal forms of education.

2.  PIAGET'S STUDIES OF THE "STRUCTURE" OF MENTAL 
LIFE IN CHILDREN.  

   If, then, we are aiming at a picture of the "stages" of  
maturation itself, it is of the first importance not to blur  
the issues by adventitious differences in experience.  Yet to  
succeed in avoiding or minimising the extent of such impurity  
is very difficult.  To do so demands a most severe discipline  
of experimental technique, and a very great ingenuity in  
devising test situations and material.  
   I have already suggested that the work of Piaget,1 in whose  
hands the theory of maturation has been given a far more  
positive content than with any other recent psychologist, is  
open to serious criticism on this point.  He offers us a highly  
articulated and elaborated picture of the development of the  
child, rather than a series of studies of particular children  
under particular conditions.  But it seems to me that he has  
not paid enough attention to the need for a rigid technical  
discipline in experiments or observations aimed at separating  
maturation from experience.  

Summary of Piaget's views.  I have had the opportunity to  
summarising the methods and main conclusions of Piaget else-  
where,2 and will here note those points which seem to be salient 
for the present discussion, and upon which I have relevant  
material to offer.  
   Piaget sees the development of mental life in the child as  
characterised by certain well-marked phases.  After the earliest  
period of "autistic" thinking in infancy, which is immersed  
in phantasy and at the service of nothing but immediate  
desire, there follows a long phase of "ego-centrism".  The  
child in this stage has an implicit belief in his own ideas, 
and no need of proof.  His questions are largely rhetorical, 
not genuinely inquiring.  He assumes that others understand  
what he says without effort on his part, and that they believe  
as he does.  The conversations of a group contain very few  
questions, orders or adapted information.  They are largely  
a set of soliloquies or "collective monologues", in which  

1 J Piaget.  The Language and Thought of the Child.  London:  
Kegan Paul.  1923; Judgment and Reasoning in the Child.  
London:  Kegan Paul.  1924; The Child's Conception of the   
World.  London:  Kegan Paul.  1926.  
2 Journal of Genetic Psychology, XXXVI, 4, and Mind, XXXVIII  
(N.S.) 152.  

children talk to themselves and pay very little attention to  
each other.  There is thus no real interchange of ideas, and  
arguments are simply a conflict of contrary affirmations.  This  
holds characteristically true until about the age of seven or  
eight.  It is at this age that genuine verbal understanding first 
appears; and that real social life begins.  This is the key  
to the rest of the facts.  " . . . we must start from the  
child's activity if we want to explain his thought.  Now this  
activity is unquestionably egocentric and egotistical.  The  
social instinct develops only late in clear-cut forms".  "The  
first critical stage occurs at the age of seven or eight, and it 
is precisely at this age that we can place the first period of  
reflection and logical unification, as well as the first attempts 
to avoid contradiction."  And from the character of ego-  
centrism arises the child's lack of consciousness of his own  
thought process, a lack which Piaget is able to bring out in  
certain experiments.  Never does he succeed in describing  
his reasoning process as such."  
   So long, Piaget holds, as the child is thinking only for  
himself, he does not need to be aware of the mechanism of  
his thinking.  But when he seeks to adapt his to others.  
and the possibility of differences of view is forced upon him.  
"operations and relations which till then have been the work  
of action alone will now be handled by imagination and by  
words".  To become conscious of reasoning operations is to  
remake mentally experiments which one has already made  
in action.   Hence the child will probably relapse into the  
difficulties he had already conquered on the plane of action.  
and this can be seen at every turn e.g., the child between  
seven and eleven has difficulty in dealing conceptually with  
the part-whole relation, or the relativity of colour and size  
relations between three objects, although he has now no  
difficulty with these on the plane of action.  
   Again, the child's inability to handle judgments of rela-  
tion, as distinct from predicative judgments arises, from his  
self-centred point of view.  That "Paul is a boy" can be  
understood from the ego-centric standpoint.  To understand  
in full what is meant by "Paul is my brother" involves  
the ability to see the matter from Paul's point of view as  
well.  Not until about eleven years of age can the child take  
a reciprocal standpoint successfully whether in the brother  
relation or the right-left relation.  
   Piaget holds that this is the function of the particular  
schematism and lack of organisation of the child's attention;  
and this in its turn rests upon his ego-centrism.  For instance, 
most boys go on believing until they are seven or eight that  
the sun and the moon follow them on their walks, and they  
are greatly perplexed when they are asked to say which of  
two boys walking in opposite directions at the same time is  
being accompanied by the heavenly body.  Because the child  
sees things always in terms of his immediate perception, he  
makes no attempt to discover their intrinsic relations.  Things  
are for him either conglomerated into a confused whole  
(syncretism), or considered one by one in a fragmentary  
and non-synthetic manner.  From this arises the "synthetic  
juxtaposition" of children's drawings, when, for example, 
the various parts of a bicycle are all recorded side by side, 
not in any definite spatial or mechanical relation.  Not until  
eight to nine years of age does the child appreciate mechanical  
causation.  
   The same difficulties occur with relations between judg-  
ments, as shown in the use of "because" and conjunctions  
of discordance.  The child does not use "therefore" and  
puts propositions together without logical relation.  The rela-  
tion for him is a mere togetherness or "property".  This  
is but one example of the child's general "syncretism" itself  
the outcome of his ego-centrism.  In syncretistic thinking  
" . . . . . two objects or two features are given simultaneously 
in perception.  Henceforth the child perceives or conceives  
them as connected or rather as fused within a single schema.  
Finally, the schema acquires the strength of reciprocal implica- 
tion, which means that if one of the features is isolated from  
the whole, and the child is asked for its reason, he will  
simply appeal to the existence of the other features by way  
of explanation or justification".  
   Again, childish reasoning is transductive, and makes no  
appeal to general propositions.  The child feels no logical  
necessity, since as yet he has no need of demonstration.  His  
reasoning is "irreversible", partly because, owing to the  
lack of analysis and self-consciousness, he cannot keep his  
premises identical throughout the process.  " . . . starting  
from a and finding b, he will not necessarily be able to find a  
again or if he does, he will not be able to prove that what  
he has found is really a and not a become a1." For the child 
under eleven to twelve years of age makes no attempt to  
become conscious of his own mental operations, and to see  
whether they imply or whether they contradict each other.  
In the stage of ego-centrism, he tolerates contradictions, and  
his thought teems with them.  About the age of seven to eight, 
however, he begins little by little to become conscious of the  
definition of the concepts he is using, and gains some power  
of attending to his own mental experiments.  Thus a certain  
awareness of implications is created in his mind, and hence an  
awareness of contradictions.  The forms of logical reasoning  
make their appearance in the field of perceptual intelligence.  
Not until eleven to twelve years does full formal reasoning  
on the verbal plane become possible, and this for two reasons:   
Not until then is the ability to become aware of, and to order  
the operations of thought as such, fully developed; and not  
until then is the child able to take the true "as if" attitude, 
and carry out a mental experiment on the plane of pure  
hypothesis or pure possibility, as distinct from the plane of  
reality reproduced in thought.  This latter condition is very  
clearly a function of his social development and of the growth  
of the ability to place oneself at a point of view other than  
one's immediate perception.  
   Having thus brought out what he considers to be the general  
structure of the child's thought, Piaget goes on to ask what is  
the picture of the world which this builds up for the child.  
He finds here equally clear and definite stages of development, 
as for example, in the child's notions about thought, about  
dreams, about names, and about life and consciousness.  The  
young child, in the ego-centric stage, is a "realist" for he  
does not distinguish between a sign and the thing signified, 
between the internal and the external, the psychical and the  
physical.  His realism is still further extended by "participa-  
tions " (Piaget here uses Levy-Bruhl's term), and spontaneous  
ideas of a magical nature.  Reality is for him impregnated  
with self, and all the universe is felt to be in communion  
with and obedient to the self.  Just as the child makes his  
own truth, so he makes his own reality.  As he states without  
proof, so he commands without limit.  
   His assimilation of the world to personal schemas, again, 
gives rise to his animistic beliefs.  In the earliest years, children  
believe that everything that is in any way active is conscious;  
then that only those are so which move of their own accord  
(including the sun and wind).  Finally, consciousness is given  
only to the animal world.  
   The child's animism is conditioned by the same factors of  
development that give rise to his feelings of "participation"  
and magical power, and is complementary to the latter.  
Animism itself lingers on in the later "artificialist" beliefs  
of the child as to the origin of natural phenomena.  He tends  
to conceive every object, including the natural bodies, as  
"made for" a purpose.  And to be made for means to be  
"made by" Piaget looks upon these beliefs, not as explicit  
and systematised judgments so much as mental attitudes,  
assumptions unquestioned and unformulated until the ques-  
tioning psychologist provokes their expression.  They arise  
from the child's general purposive schemas.  His dependence  
upon his parents, his sense of their power, virtue and  
omniscience, along with his experience of himself as a creative  
agent in excretory and manual activities, are held by Piaget  
to be the starting-point of these beliefs as to the origins of  
natural phenomena.  
   These wide-reaching theoretical views are based upon a  
wealth of detailed facts as to children's responses to expen-  
mental questions, as well as upon their spontaneous behaviour  
under certain conditions of observation.  Both the conclusions  
and the methods of investigation are clearly of the utmost  
importance for genetic psychology, and merit the most close  
and detailed scrutiny.  
  
Piaget's questions.  Many of the opinions offered have been  
arrived at by trying to get behind the facts revealed by such  
situations as the Binet tests create, and by going on to ask the 
most pertinent and interesting question, what is it that children 
do when they fail to reason?  What determines their actual  
responses when they do not succeed in giving the "right"  
answer?  What goes on in their minds when they are faced  
with a question about the brother or the right-left relation, and 
cannot deal with it logically?  What actually happens when  
they fail to appreciate mechanical causality?  
   It is by this analysis of the positive mental processes which  
lie behind the child's wrong answers to tests, at the ages  
at which he cannot yet give the right answers, that Piaget has  
added to our understanding of mental development.  He has  
shown very clearly how the various aspects of each phase of  
development hang together with an internal and psychological  
coherence.  Given a, then b follows; and if we have a and b,  
we need not look for c.  If the child has a complete and  
implicit belief in his own ideas, and assumes that everyone  
else sees and thinks the same, then he clearly cannot enter  
into a real exchange of opinion, nor realise contradictions, nor 
take a reciprocal point of view.  And he will obviously not  
be able to handle relations that depend upon the ability to  
look at things from the standpoint of another.  And until he  
is aware of the sharp thrust of opinions different from his own, 
he will have no motive for turning round upon his own  
perceptions and judgments, and breaking them up critically.  
   Now it will be seen that Piaget puts the whole weight upon  
the social factor in development.  It is in (what he considers  
to be) the first appearance of "the social instincts" at or  
about seven to eight years that the key to intellectual develop- 
mentalies.  Before this, the child is egocentric, and therefore  
syncretistic.  After this, his thought lies open to the criticism 
of others, and thus self-criticism is awakened.  And from self-  
criticism, logical judgment and ability to reason are born.  
  
3.  INTERPRETATION OF THE PRESENT MATERIAL, AND  
CRITICISMS OF PIAGET.  
  
   The social factor is thus the key to intellectual growth; but  
we are given no key to social development in its turn.  This  
has no explanation -- it would seem to be itself the principle  
of explanation.  It would seem to be here that (for Piaget)  
the central mystery of maturation is to be found.  No psycho-  
logical genesis of the social instincts appearing at seven to  
eight years is offered.  They are, presumably, the result of  
some biological process of maturation of the nervous system,  
and their roots are not to be sought in previous psychological  
happenings.  
   This is, then, the point where we meet, in Piaget's views,  
the natural historian pure and simple.  (Or, perhaps, we  
may say, the natural historian married to the logician.)  
   In my second volume, on the social development of young  
children, I shall enter fully into the question of whether such  
a point of view is justified.  I shall urge, partly on the basis  
of the records of the embryonic social relations among my own 
group of little children, that the process of socialisation is  
gradual and continuous, although certainly marked by recog-  
nisable phases; and that the "social instincts" which appear  
more marked at seven to eight years undoubtedly have, at any  
rate in part, an individual history and a strictly psychological 
genesis, as Freud has shown.  Their form is at least to some  
extent the outcome of experience, and of a highly complicated  
interplay of tendencies and countertendencies.  They are not  
to be thought of as a simple and direct expression of a  
biological process of maturation.  
   The evidence for this will be adduced in its place.  Here I  
must content myself with merely stating this view, since the  
problems of cognitive behaviour are my direct concern at  
the moment.  
  
Social v. physical factors in development.  More important  
for our present purpose is the question of whether Piaget is  
right in placing so much weight upon the social factor.  That  
it is of great significance can hardly be doubted.  As with all  
mammalian young, the child's first relations are with his kind  
rather than directly with the physical world.  The babe at birth  
is orientated to his mother, not to the physical world.  And the  
work of psycho-analysis has shown how profoundly the earliest  
mental processes are moulded on the pattern of this first  
personal relationship.  But whilst recognising this, and giving  
due weight to the fact that in the unconscious phantasies and  
neurotic symptoms of the adult this fundamental pattern can  
still be discerned, one cannot shut one's eyes to the influence of  
direct contact with the physical world.  The child makes a  
partial discovery of the limits which the physical world sets to 
his activities surely almost as early as he comes to know other  
human beings as persons.  The disappointments and sense  
of impotence which things force upon him are as much a part  
of his education as the denials and thwartings suffered at the  
hands of adults.1  The burnt child dreads the fire even in  
the stage of ego-centrism.  Only in the very earliest months  
can it be true that human relationships hold the stage  
completely.  At least from the weaning period onwards, the  
  
1 Piaget, of course, altogether overlooks the denials and
thwartingssuffered at the hands of the parents, and allows himself 
to
suggest  
that the infant lives in a world of satisfied desire until he is three  
years of age!  
physical world must have some part in the organisation of  
experience and in the fixing of cognitive patterns; and  
increasingly so as development proceeds.  
   It is in the end, of course, a matter of proportion and  
emphasis.  But it would seem to be a mistake to follow one  
thread only through the story of development, neglecting the  
other entirely, and thus necessarily distorting the pattern of
the whole.  
   Whilst it is certainly true that the first value which the  
physical world has for the child is as a canvas upon which to  
project his personal wishes and anxieties, and that his first  
form of interest in it is one of dramatic representation, yet,  
as I have already urged, this does not prevent him from getting  
direct actual experience of physical processes.  Physical events  
become, in fact, the test and measure of reality.  There is  
no wheedling or cajoling or bullying or deceiving them.  Their  
answer is yes or no, and remains the same today as yesterday.  
It is surely they that wean the child from personal schemas,  
and give content to "objectivity"  

Interest in physical world.  The behaviour of the little children 
recorded in this volume, shows clearly how strong and spon-  
taneous an interest they do take in the things and events of the 
physical world, even in the earliest years of childhood; and  
how quickly they respond to any opportunity which their  
environment offers for following out further the first movement  
of wonder and of inquiry.  I do not need to detail any particular 
instances in this place, since the bulk of these records are  
evidence in favour of this view.  I may remind the reader that  
the main character of our technique was to meet the spon-  
taneous inquiries of the children, as they were shown day by  
day, and to give them the means of following these inquiries  
out in sustained and progressive action.  So that the facts of  
their behaviour with fire and water and ice, with pulleys and  
see-saw and pendulum, and (later) with drilling machine and  
Bunsen burner, can be taken as immediate evidence of the  
spontaneous direction of their interests.  We did not "teach"  
our children about these things, nor try to create an interest in 
them, nor introduce any experiments or apparatus until the  
need for them had actually arisen.  Indeed, at the beginning  
of the first term of the school, I had made very little provision 
for anything that could he called experiment or inquiry into the
way things happen, other than could be found in the ordinary  
handicrafts materials and in the garden.  It was the behaviour  
of the children themselves, and their eager questions about  
cooking, about water and snow and ice and the garden bonfire,  
about the drains and the gas pipes and hot-water pipes and  
electric light, that led me gradually to give them material that 
would allow of these interests being followed out for their own  
sake.  
   And these were children (then) all under five years of age.  
  
Formulations.  How fruitful these opportunities were is shown  
in the clear spontaneous formulations of their experiences which 
the children made from time to time.  It must again be remem-  
bered that we never pressed for these formulations.  We did  
not ourselves sum up the children's experiences in words, but  
left them inarticulate as long as they themselves did not feel the  
need for verbal expression.  The clear statements they offered  
are thus all the more striking.  I have already quoted some  
of these.  For example, Dan's explanation of the steepness  
of the stairs (5;1), and of the working of the bicycle (5;9).  
far antedating Piaget's view of the age at which mechanical  
causality is at all understood.  (Dan's mental ratio is 142.)  
Other instances are:  Conrad's (5;11) remark -- " The children  
had found two or three holes in the trunk of an apple-tree.  
partly filled up with leaf-mould.  They brought water and  
poured it into one hole, and were very amused when it came  
out of another lower down.  Dan, looking at a hole higher  
up that the one they poured the water into, said, `Perhaps  
it'll come out of this one'.  Miss D. asked, `Do you think  
that's possible?'  Conrad (M.R. 118) replied, `No, not  
unless there's pressure behind it'".1  
  
1 It is not to he thought that Conrad understood the full meaning  
of what he said, or had a clear abstract notion of pressure behind 
afluid.

 What is most probable is that at some recent date the childrenhad 
been
discussing some question of how the water got into the bathroom  
taps (they were always asking that sort of questions, and had had 
the explanation that it came out of the taps on a high floor, in spite  
of the fact that water does not run uphill, because there was 
pressure  
behind it, and then Conrad applied it to the new situation of the 
holes in the tree.  This by no means makes it purely verbal, because 
holes in a tree are very different from brass taps in a bathroom.  
There  
must have been some appreciation of the common element -- how  
and when will water come out of a higher hole than it is put in?
   Or again:  "Christopher took one of the paper bags to  
burst, and he and Priscilla called it `fireworks'.  They looked  
for more bags to burst, and as there weren't any, decided to  
make some.  Mrs. I. asked, `How will you make them?'  
`We'll sew them', said Christopher.  Frank (5;ll) remarked  
at once, `That won't do.  They won't burst, because the  
air will come out of the holes you make'".  
   And Christopher's (5;8) remark may be quoted when "Mrs.  
I. told the children she was going to cycle to a place she  
hadn't been to before, and that she should take a map and  
look out the way she had to go.  Christopher said, `Yes,  
when you come to cross-roads you'll have to get off and look  
at the map.  Yes, you won't want to when there's only one  
road; when you come to where the roads join, then you'll  
have to look at the map'".  
   Or again:  "Phineas (3;11, M.R. 123) held some wet raffia  
in the fire, and asked, `Why won't it burn?'  Miss C.:  
`Why won't it?'  Phineas:  `Because it's wet'.  He held  
it against the flame for some time, and when it began to  
burn, he said, `It's burning now'.  Miss C.:  `Why is it  
burning now?' Phineas:  `Because it's dry!'  `What  
made it dry?'  `The flame', he replied".  
  
Influence of environment.  These instances of direct interest  
in the physical world and mechanical causality in children so  
young are clearly important as positive evidence to be weighed  
against Piaget's negative evidence that such interests are not  
shown.  They suggest strongly that the extent to which they  
do appear and are sustained must in large part be a function  
of the environment, and of the degree of response which they  
meet with in influential adults.  If they win no help or atten-  
tion, they will not be pursued and sustained.  Little children  
are profoundly at the mercy of grown-ups and of the environ-  
ment which grown-ups determine, and are always ready to draw  
in the sensitive feelers which they put out to test the world.  
The impulse of curiosity in the child would need to be of  
extremely sturdy growth to persist against the checks it suffers 
in any circle dominated entirely by ordinary scholastic  
traditions.  
  
Conditions of observation.  I would therefore urge. against  
the view that interest in mechanical causality and ability to 
appreciate it do not normally develop until the middle years of  
childhood, (a) that the age at which the interest first appears  
spontaneously is very much earlier;1 (b) that how far it is  
sustained and developed to the point at which Piaget's tests  
would be applicable is partly a function of the social and  
physical environment; and (c) that the conditions under which  
Piaget tried to measure them were very unfavourable to their  
manifestation.  Sustained conversations between one child and  
one adult in one place do not provide the circumstances which  
would provoke questions demanding causal explanation or  
inquiries about inanimate objects.  (In how many two-hour  
conversations between two ordinary adults sitting in one room  
would questions demanding causal explanations arise?)  These  
occur rather in the course of free practical activity in a varied 
setting, and in play with other children and with adults who  
share in the practical pursuits.  It seems to me that Piaget's  
negative evidence on this point thus very largely falls to the  
ground.  His conclusions apply legitimately only to the  
particular conditions of his particular experiments; and  
cannot, therefore, be taken as revealing stages of true  
maturation.  
  
Children's Reasoning.   Moreover, the incidents brought  
together under the heading of Reasoning, as well as in the other  
sections, show clearly enough that children as young as these  
do reason quite successfully, when their interests are engaged.  
What could be more logical than Dan's (3;5) protest of fear  
when I took away the stick with which Harold was threatening  
him, "But he will hit me with his hand!"  In other words, it  
was the quarrelsome Harold I ought to remove, not the tool he  
was momentarily using.  Or what could be more consequential  
than Paul's (3;11) reply to Dan when Dan asserts "this kind  
of railway doesn't have sleepers " -- "Oh, is it another  
country?  Whilst Benjie's (4;1) reply to the grounds which  
  
1 Some children do, of course, show it more strongly than others.  
Phineas (M.R. 123) will be noticed in the records as having a partic-  
ularly persistent and organised interest in physical experiments. 
But he bulks so largely in the notes, not only because he gave so 
much  
time to these pursuits, but also partly because it happened that the  
staff had more leisure to write down their observations at that 
period  
and the majority of the other children were just then engaging in 
other  
arms of play.  
I offered for making the children put away their toys, "If  
we left them on the floor, and were running and trod on them,  
we might break them, mightn't we?" -- " We shouldn't break  
those big bricks, should we?" is worthy of any acute debater.  
There are plenty of effective "becauses" and "whys" and  
"buts" and "conjunctions of discordance" quoted among  
these incidents -- and many more were heard among the  
children every day.  
   And how could disjunctives ever be more clearly set out  
than by Denis (3;9, M.R. 166):  "The bread's buttered  
already, isn't it? so if we want it without butter we can't,  
can we? -- unless we 'crape it off wiv a knife . . .  and  
if we want it without butter and don't want to 'crape it off  
wiv a knife, we have to eat it wiv butter, don't we?"  
   Further evidence of the ability of little children to reason  
both clearly and accurately will be found in the material  
given in Appendix C.  An example is Ursula (4;0).  "Why  
are there two l's in pull?  We don't need two, do we?  One  
would do, wouldn't it?"  And her account of how "Mary's  
mummie said such a silly thing when I was at school.  And  
Miss Thomas!  One day, when you didn't come early to  
fetch me, and I didn't want to put on my things, she said,  
`Isn't your mummie late?'  And she said, `If you put on  
your things, she'll come quicker'.  That couldn't make any  
difference if you were in the bus, could it?  And Miss Thomas  
said the same!  Wasn't that silly?  That couldn't make any  
difference, could it?  Wasn't she silly?  They are both  
silly, weren't they?"  She spoke to her mother of this again  
later in the day.  "It could only make us quicker going  
home, couldn't it?  but it couldn't make you quicker coming.  
could it?"  
   The difference between the younger child and the older,  
between the child and the adult, is thus not that the  
former do not reason, or reason only in the form of the per-  
ceptual judgment and practical manipulation.  It is rather the  
extent to which, with the younger children, the higher forms  
of noetic synthesis rest directly upon and grow immediately  
out of the simpler.  Verbal reasoning and the clear formulation  
of judgments are no more than wave-crests upon the flow of  
young children's thought.  They spring up from a practical  
or personal situation, and die down again to it.  Verbal  
thinking can hardly yet be sustained in its own right, in the 
earlier years.  It draws its vitality from the actual problems  
of concrete understanding and of manipulation in which it  
takes its rise, and the solution of which it furthers.  One of  
the marks of growth is thus the increasing independence of  
cumulative thought from immediate concrete and personal  
situations.  But this essentially practical and concrete basis  
probably characterises the thought of children well beyond  
the years of seven or eight, which mark the upper let of  
the present study.  
  
  
Discussions.  Again, the incidents given in Discussions, as well  
as the general bulk of the records, will suggest the extent of  
mutual correction and genuine interchange of opinion and  
argument which went on among the children in the school.  
Such discussion was in fact so much a part of the children's  
every-day life that I find it hard to believe that it can be  
seriously suggested by anyone that true interchange of opinion  
does not occur with children under seven or eight years.  With  
our group, there were, of course, plenty of mere "contrary  
affirmations"  -- and some of these are quoted.  But there  
were quite as many genuine arguments and interchanges of  
views as there would be with any group of ordinary adults.  
Is nut a large part of our own conversation a conglomeration  
of "contrary affirmations" -- when it is not merely a verbal  
form of herd contact, as Trotter has suggested so much of it is? 
    One of the most interesting single incidents is the welter of  
"whys" which Phineas (M.R. 123) poured out when (3;10)  
looking for the first time at a large picture of a station, with 
a train crossing a set of points, and various signals about, etc. 
   "There was a picture of a station on the wall, with a train  
crossing over a set of points, and signals, etc.  Phineas began  
to ask Mrs. I. questions about the picture.  `Why aren't there  
any coal trucks?  Why is it darker there for?  Why is it  
darker in there?  I saw a shadow.  There is a fire in there.  
Why is there a fire in there?  And there are two men in there.  
Why are the men there for?  Why couldn't you see it (the  
engine) going on the picture for?'  (He asked this exactly  
the same way three times repeated.)  `What are the railway  
lines for?  What could the puffer do without railway lines?  
Why aren't there no railway lines here?' (pointing to the  
margin).  `Why couldn't you see the next side for?  Why  
are those funny signals for?  What is this round thing for?' 
(pointing to the boiler).  `What are round boxes for?' (Mrs. I.  
was called away then; but he went on talking to Priscilla).  
`What is that man looking at, Priscilla?  What are the two  
colours for?' (pointing to the signal flags).  Then Priscilla  
went away, and he went to do something else."  
   These questions show two sorts of inquiry in the child's  
mind:  (a) An interest in the actual facts represented-" What  
are the two colours for?  and (b) An attempt to understand  
the convention of a picture, viz., the representation of three-  
dimensional space on a plane surface, and the way in which  
it singles out one fragment from the continuum of real happen-  
ings and fixes it there as if it had no past and no future.  
"Why couldn't you see it (the engine) going on the picture  
for?"  "Why couldn't you see the next side for?"  Phineas  
here reveals to us the degree of arbitrary convention which goes 
to the making of a picture, and which most grown-ups (not  
themselves artists) commonly take for granted, as if it were  
a natural fact.  He shows us the way in which an intelligent  
child may seek actively to relate the convention to the real  
events so represented.  A duller child would accept it more  
unquestioningly and show less active assimilation of the new  
experience.  
    
Monologuism.  One of the striking differences between the  
behaviour of this group and of the children studied by Piaget is 
with regard to what he calls monologuism, and particularly the  
collective monologue.  There was extremely little of the latter,  
in any recognisable form.  The talk of our children almost  
always seemed to be definitely directed.  They talked to each  
other, and quite rarely to themselves, in the presence of others. 
Indeed, there were some children, Dan, for instance, whose  
talk was always social.  I have no record of any remark of  
Dan's which had not a social intent, and to which a reply  
in some form was not looked for.  He often, of course, took  
part in conversations which were not intellectual in content,  
which were concerned with a shared emotion or acted-out  
phantasy rather than with judgments or knowledge or argu-  
ment.  But such talk is social in its activity, if not always  
in its logical structure; and is far from being a collective  
monologue.  
   I have definite records of verbal monologue from two  
children only, James and Martin, and both at a time when  
they were well under four years of age.  The talk of Martin  
(3;1), recorded on 24.3.25 (p. 156), is a perfect example of  
ego-centrism, and of monologue, "collective" in the sense  
that it was in the presence of a grown-up, although not of  
other children.  When James (3;3, M.R. 126) first came to  
the school, he spent a good deal of time talking to himself,  
talking out his phantasies as he played alone with a toy engine  
or motorcar.  We caught remarks "about and this bus goes  
very fast", or "and that one got knocked over", and so  
on.  But this was strictly soliloquy, an indulgence in private  
phantasy, and not collective in any sense.  How well separated  
it was in the child's own mind from his real relations with  
people was well shown on one occasion.  James was playing  
absorbedly in the middle of the lawn with a bath of water and  
several jugs, and talking to himself about what he was doing.  
One of the adults in the house, observing this, walked very  
quietly over the grass and stood close behind the child, to  
hear what his phantasy was.  After a time, James, who had  
gone on as if he had noticed nothing, suddenly turned round  
and addressed to the grown-up a matter-of-fact remark about  
the water.  
   The younger children, of course, often played out their  
private phantasies in solitary play that was, however, hardly  
verbal.  For instance, Tommy would often sit alone on a  
stool in the garden and make "engine" noises to himself;  
and he and Paul and others would often run round the  
schoolroom or garden, each by himself, as a motor-car or an  
engine, making expressive gestures and sounds.  But even in  
this, they would often come to me or to other children and  
tell us, "This is the fastest train in the world", "This is an  
express sleeping-train", and so on; and watch to see if  
they were getting due notice and admiration.  Or they would  
intersperse intelligent questions or discussions with each other 
about particular sorts of trains and engines, or the parts of  
motor-cars, in the course of their play.  
   I thus find myself quite unable to accept the view that there  
is any stage of development corresponding to the concept of  
monologuism, and I cannot recognise the supposed phenomena  
of the collective monologue in Piaget's characteristic sense.  
My children certainly evidenced the true soliloquy; but this 
would seem to arise from certain situations or certain moods,  
rather than from a particular stage of development.  It  
happened naturally, e.g., when they were building alone or  
playing alone with a mechanical toy.  The younger children  
(much younger than those instanced by Piaget) certainly  
indulged in this sort of soliloquy a good deal oftener than  
the older ones; and in that sense, the younger children are  
undoubtedly less social and more individualistic.  That fact  
I do not question at all; but since the same children at the  
same time showed also plenty of true social behaviour, in  
appropriate situations, it would seem to be a matter of a  
continuous process of socialisation, rather than one of hard  
and fast stages of development, marked by crises of change.  
And some children soliloquise much more than others, at all  
ages.  
   The solitary play when the private phantasies are acted  
and talked out seems to have in it a minimum of ideation  
and of objective reference, and to show a schizo-phrenic  
quality.  But when the children are playing together, even  
if the play be of a simple repetitive type, in what could perhaps 
be called a collective phantasy, there is always some definite  
degree of social reference to the other children sharing in the  
common activity.  Even if one child is imposing his will upon  
the others, acting the mother or father to their part as babies, 
yet the whole is a shared activity, in which each of the  
various roles supports and complements the rest, with a  
moment-by-moment adaptation.   
   In my second volume on social relations, I shall be able  
to give detailed evidence for this view, and shall try to  
elaborate more closely the actual course of social development  
as I saw it in these children.    
  
Different levels of functioning coexist.  It must now be pointed  
out that the children were by no means always to be found  
upon the level of clear understanding.  Even when they were  
trying to think, and were discussing and arguing and asking  
questions, they did in fact sometimes shod the modes of  
thought which Piaget has brought together under the concepts  
of ego-centrism and syncretism.  Some of these are instanced  
in the records quoted, but we may note a few here.  
   For example, on the same day on which Dan (5;9) gave  
such a clear account of the mechanism of the bicycle, he  
shared in two examples of magical "pre-causality":  
   (a) The children who stayed to lunch had a practice of  
"bagging" the different towels provided for wiping the  
crockery.  Every day before lunch, they rushed to the towel-  
rail and took one of the towels up, touched it, and had on to  
it for a few minutes.  On this day, about the middle of the  
morning, they all rushed to do this, and each hung on to  
his towel saying, "Save, save save!"  Mrs. I. asked them,  
"Please don't hang on to the towel-rail -- you may break  
it".  "All right, we won't, but we want to save it for a  
bit longer", repeating the gesture and the word, as if  
these somehow made the towels belong inherently to them  
thereafter.  
   (b) The kettle was on the stove boiling, a jet of steam  
coming out of the spout.  Dan (5;9) and Priscilla (7;7) waved  
their hands at it, and Dan spat at the kettle.  When Mrs. I.  
asked him, "Please don't spit", he replied, "But I wanted  
to stop that coming out!"  
   And in the vigorous argument on p. 152 as to whether  
Priscilla should marry him or Frank, Dan (4;8) apparently  
turned the obvious conclusion of the common wisdom com-  
pletely round, twisting it to a proof that he would be bigger  
than Priscilla because he would marry her, instead of a proof  
that he could not marry her because he was smaller.  
   In the following incident he showed how he could cheat  
himself, at least half-seriously:   
   "One of the children stood on a chair, and said, `I'm  
taller than you' to the others.  They all of them then got  
on chairs; and Frank and Christopher both said they were  
taller than Dan (3;9).  Dan then said to Frank, `Yes, we  
are taller than Christopher, aren't we?'  Dan being much  
the smallest of the three".  
   An example of ego-centric behaviour is provided by  
Duncan (7;0).  "It began to rain when the children were  
in the garden, and they and Mrs. I. took shelter under an  
overhanging creeper.  They stayed there some time watching  
the rain and listening to it.  Mrs. I. asked the children if  
they could hear it.  One or two of them said. `Yes'.  
Duncan said, `I can't', and when the other children said,  
`We can', he said `No, you can't', and tried to enforce  
his opinion by hitting them.  This often happens with them.  
Duncan in particular is very dogmatic, and often tries to  
enforce his views by vigorous assertion and hitting."  As
other incidents show, Duncan was characteristically inclined  
to clinch any difference of opinion between himself and others  
by dogmatic reiteration, or even by physical argument; but  
this was very probably because he was older than any of  
the others, and must therefore have found any intellectual  
challenge from them both incredible and annoying.  
   Some instances of reversal of cause and effect must be  
noted, in relation to Piaget's analysis of the psychological  
grounds for this happening.  For example:   
   (a) "Paul (4;0) saw the new piece of American cloth which  
had been fastened on to the back of the piano, in place of  
the old piece which had got torn last term.  He remarked,  
`That's why the blue one was torn'".  
   (b) "Seeing the paint boxes on the shelf, Martin (3;1)  
then decided to paint, and began to put the colours away,  
saying, `I want to paint -- that's 'cause I'm putting these  
away'." (This, however, might well be a purely verbal  
confusion.)  But how few of these there are to remark in  
comparison with all the correct uses of because!  
   Other pieces of behaviour seem to show clearly that even  
under the influence of great provocation, the children can  
often distinguish well between the reality they would desire  
and the reality that is.  We have this sense when Paul (4;0)  
slips on the stairs, and cries, "Oh, I wish there weren't any  
stairs -- I wish there were no railings".  So with Denis's (3:10)  
complaint when he was taken to have his hair cut by Miss D.  
"When she was ready to go she went into the dining-room  
for him, and he had not finished tea.  She offered to wait.  
but he was so eager to go that he dropped his bread-and-  
butter and went off at once.  They walked there and back,  
and coming home he was tired and hungry.  While being  
bathed, he said mournfully, `Would you have thought that  
if somebody had to go and have his hair cut, it would take  
so long that you didn't finish your tea, and when you got  
back it was your bed-time?'"  And in the incident with  
the potato we have the most exquisite evidence as to the  
extent to which an intelligent child can not only delight in  
make-believe, but can find even more fun in his awareness of  
the distinction between his pretence and the reality.  Denis's 
laughter at his own joke, and the eager way he shared it  
with Conrad and the others was memorable:   
   "At lunch the children were eating chip potatoes, long  
and thin ones.  Denis (3;10, M.R. 166) took one up in his  
fingers, held it upright on top of his head, and then said (to  
nobody in particular), in his deep voice, `This is a funnel,  
and the engine driver thinks it's a potato, so he gets out of  
the engine' (bringing the potato down to the level of his  
mouth), `and he eats it -- and it is a potato!'  (Conrad passed  
near at the moment.) `It is a potato, Conrad!', he added,  
with emphasis and laughter."  
   In the incident with Phineas (3;10):   
   "Phineas overbalanced his chair, and it fell over.  He  
called out, `I don't like it.  It fell over.  Why did it fall  
over?  I don't like it'.  He looked quite aggrieved", it  
might be possible to suppose an element of projection, and  
the attribution of perversity to the offending chair.  It may,  
however, have been simply an interjection of protest and  
helplessness, for undoubtedly why is often used in this way  
by both child and adult.  
   An informative incident occurred when Dan (5;1) was  
looking at a picture of a steamship, and Mrs. I. made  
some remark about "the windows". Dan corrected her,  
emphatically, "They're not windows, they're portholes".  
Mrs. I. said, "Yes, they're portholes, but then portholes  
arc windows".  (He had not at that date seen any actual  
steamships, only pictures of them.)  Dan rejected this "ego-  
centrically", and with vehement scorn.  But when Mrs. I.  
suggested that he should ask Christopher, who, as Dan knew,  
had come over from America on a steamship, he did so,  
and meekly accepted Christopher's corroboration of Mrs. I.'s  
statement.  
   Along with this must be put Tommy's (4;2. M.R. 134)  
behaviour when he was asked how the "goose" which he  
had modelled could fly without wings.  His first response was  
"The wings are inside"; but as a result of the criticism,  
he actually went on to model them immediately afterwards.  
Thus both he and Dan, whilst their first response to contra-  
diction or criticism might be a magical assertion "without  
proof" and a "command without limit", yet showed them-  
selves able to accept a correction and to use it to further  
understanding.  
No successive "structures".  These records as a whole, I  
suggest, cut right across any notion of hard and fast mental  
"structures" -- first ego-centrism, and then socialised logic,  
first a merely practical handling of experience, and then the  
verbal forms of reasoning.  They show, rather, a continuous  
advance in scope and clarity of noetic synthesis and in the  
ability to handle experience in more and more complex forms.  
The spontaneous behaviour of these little children thus reveals  
the same continuity of growth as Burt's graded tests of reason-  
ing have demonstrated in children from seven years of age  
onwards.  
   On the other hand, the children described here showed  
very varying degrees of sense and clarity in their thought  
and in their practical judgment, according to the moment  
and the situation.  They did not live all the time on the  
highest level of their powers, but were liable to be betrayed  
at any time by anger, by desire, by pure phantasy or by  
ignorance.  Very often, of course, they did not "think"  
at all, but yielded themselves up to the drift of mere wish-  
fulfillment or dramatic representation.  And sometimes when  
they made a show of thinking, in response to some question  
or practical issue, they were in fact merely "reproducing"  
in the mechanical sense which Spearman distinguishes so  
sharply from the cognitive act.  And on any day, they would  
pass easily between the realms of pure phantasy and occa-  
sionally of magic, and those of practical insight and resource.  
and of verbal argument and reasoning.  
   All this, however, scarcely separates the young child from  
his elder brother, nor children from adults.  We too know  
well how it may be  

      " . . . the most difficult of tasks to keep  
      Heights that the soul is competent to gain ".1

   We too, whilst moved, by common-sense and a matter-of-  
fact causality in concrete fields in which experience counts,  
or in which practical motives urge us to objectivity.  can yet  
show every one of the errors of subjectivity, when faced with  
unfamiliar issues, or when taken off our guard for example  
by religious prejudice or by social tradition.  We are apt to  
do so (a) in new fields of experience; (b) in fields where  
the objective controls are not clear and rigid and (c) in  

1 Wordsworth.  The Excursion  

any field, when passion and prejudice are aroused.  The  
history of medicine, and contemporary discussions of con-  
troversial matters, from birth-control to the negro problem,
surely illustrate how difficult it is even for educated adults  
to free themselves from "syncretistic" and "ego-centric"  
ways of thinking.  
   Only a philosopher's lay figure can be relied upon to judge  
without bias and syllogise without fallacy.  And if we are  
to arrive at a true notion of the concrete course of mental  
development, and of the difference between children and our-  
selves, we must measure the children against the actual ways  
of actual men and women, rather than against text-book  
standards of formal logic.  
  
Piaget's "clinical method" criticised.  In thus bringing out  
the contrast between Piaget's picture of mental development  
and my own view of it, I may perhaps usefully add some  
further grounds of criticism of Piaget's methods of inquiry,  
which seem to me largely to explain the difference between  
his data and mine.  I have set these criticisms out in my  
review,1 from which I quote, of his book The Child's Con-  
ception of the World.  In this volume Piaget examines the  
child's views on the motions and origins of the sun and moon;  
on dreams, and on life and consciousness.  
   "We get the impression that Piaget conceives the child of  
certain ages as actually resistant to knowledge and to logic  
that he might have if he would -- if he chose to stretch out his  
hand for it!  But how can the child know the true relation of  
the movements of the sun and the earth and his own body  
until he has been taught them?  And how can he know the  
right answer to `where do dreams come from?' or `how  
did the moon begin?' before he has been actually initiated  
into our particular intellectual conventions about the inten-  
tion of such questions?  One cannot give the right answer  
to the wrong question.  Think of the actual amount, not  
merely of knowledge, but also of conventional mental habit,  
that goes to what we consider to be the correct answer  
to these queries!  Deprived of that knowledge, of our  
general organised experience, and of our familiarity with  
scientific conventions, should we adults fare any better?  

1 Mind, XXXVIII, N.S., 152, pp. 506-513.

The untrained, undisciplined and ignorant mind is, of course.  
ego-centric, precausal and magical, in proportion to its  
ignorance and lack of discipline.  But after infancy it is not  
accurate to represent it as ignorant merely because of its  
ego-centricity -- it is ego-centric in large part because of  
its ignorance and lack of organised experience. No doubt  
there are limiting internal conditions and ages; but  
no less obviously, limiting experiences and lack of experi-  
ences.  And it is essential to make the fullest allowance for  
these.  
   (b) In the second place, it is borne in upon us, after  
reminding ourselves of these varied levels of mental function-  
ing in child and adult alike, that the clinical method actually  
brings to light not the ordinary intellectual tools of children  
at the ordinary level of practical life -- but their deeper  
phantasies.  Piaget is digging deeper than he realises.  The  
child's mind moves in these ways of magic and `participa-  
tion', of syncretism and precausality, in its deeper layers  
as do our own, in dream, in reverie and free association.  On  
these levels we also `fail to distinguish between the self and  
the world'.  They are, however, less easy to tap in us, and  
cannot be reached save by the special techniques which set  
aside our intellectual conventions and the play of knowledge.  
In us the ego and its memory traces are more secure and more  
firmly organised, and we are more deeply entrenched within  
the objective world.  The child has not yet the organised body  
of knowledge to be able to resist being pushed back into  
the realm of phantasy and ego-centricity, below relational  
thought.  He has not yet built the common-sense scientific  
world into himself deeply enough to rest upon it when  
apparently prompted towards his phantasies by an influential  
adult.  
   We are thus led to criticise -- or qualify -- the clinical method  
itself.  There seem to be three grounds for dissatisfaction.  
   (1) A large number of the questions put to the children -- 
for example, all those about meteorology, the movements of  
the sun and moon, and their origins -- are concerned with  
matters of actual knowledge, the presence or degree of which  
will depend more on circumstance than, for instance, the  
minimal knowledge made use of in tests of intelligence.  
Countless unknown and uncontrolled factors will therefore  
blur any hint of internal development that might be hidden  
in them.  In the later ages, for example, most of the children  
will have been deliberately taught the correct view.  If he  
has not the knowledge, the child will answer out of himself --   
but of course he will then be ego-centric!  
   (2) The suggestive power of the actual questions cannot be  
overlooked, despite all Piaget's precautionary technique.  (a)  
The mere fact that some children have at some time asked  
just those questions, and that they are not mere adult importa-  
tions, does not rob them of adult prestige when they are asked  
of another child, and asked of the child instead of by him.  
The adult does not lose his suggestive weight as adult when  
he talks the language of the child.  Just as adult convention  
and the language of experience will inhibit phantasy in the  
child when they surround him, so when the adult prompts  
him to the release of phantasy, and he is pressed to follow  
it up, his more lately gathered and insecurely organised know-  
ledge may slip away in bewilderment.  This is, of course,  
well recognised with regard to intelligence tests.  Burt cautions 
the experimenter with, for example, the definitions test,  
`Beware of saying, "What does a horse do?"'  Yet  
Piaget asks, `How did the sun begin?'  `Where did it  
come from?' (b) The form of the question tends strongly  
to set the child's mind moving the a certain direction, and  
limits his intellectual scope.  For example, `Where do  
dreams come from?' and those already quoted.  On the  
other hand, many of the `why' questions (Piaget's, that  
is) --  --  `Is the fly alive?' `Yes.' Why?' (`Pour-  
quoi?') -- must be so confusing to the child that one cannot  
set much theoretical store upon deviations from sense in the  
replies.  
   (3) The clinical method, no matter how skilful the user,  
provides only a limited and stereotyped situation, the char-  
acter of which necessarily puts the child at an intellectual  
disadvantage.  He is sure to show himself at lower levels  
than in the more varied and cooperative situations of active  
daily life in school or home.  With children as with animals,  
the psychologist has to offer real problems, those that are  
significant and attractive to the children or animals them-  
selves.  And he has to find ways of measuring and including  
the typical best performance of his subjects if he is to make  
any pronouncement as to the limits of ability, or to aim at  
a representative picture of any given age."  
Influence of mental ratio.  There remains, however, one  
possible interpretation of the difference between the behaviour  
of Piaget's subjects and the children in this group, which  
must at least be considered, viz:  that it is due directly and  
simply to the difference in average mental ratio.  
   Now some of the difference must, of course, be due to this  
factor.  Piaget gives very little information about the mental  
ratio of the children whom he observed.  Lev, one of the  
two children whose conversation was studied in detail, and  
whose remarks gave rise to the concepts of ego-centrism and  
collective monologue, is described as being "between six  
months and a year in advance of the normal ".1  When I  
inquired personally at the Maison des Petits in Geneva (the  
school where the bulk of the experiments were made) what  
the range of intelligence among the children was, I was told  
that it was very much like an ordinary school for infants.  
That is to say, it included occasional examples of the higher  
grades of mental defect, as well as all ranges of the normal.  
My own strong impression every time I read the detailed  
accounts of the talk of these children is that they were very  
considerably below those recorded here in mental ratio.  The  
children in my group were of course highly selected (mean  
ratio 131); those in the Maison des Petits are probably much  
more generally representative.  
   If it could be shown that the whole difference in behaviour  
between these children and those upon whom Piaget has  
built his conclusions were due to difference in innate ability,  
then my records would be a mere corollary to his work,  
simply making clear some of the ways in which the relative  
precocity of gifted children is shown.  This contention could,  
however, only be established if a control group of children  
of an average range of intelligence were placed in surround-  
ings similar to those enjoyed by the Malting House School  
children; and their behaviour compared in detail.  Such  
an experiment would be well worth making for its own  
sake.  
   Meanwhile, however, we have some reasons, both positive  
and critical, for presuming that at least some of the difference 
in behaviour must spring from the very considerable difference  
in setting and opportunity between the two groups.  These  
  
1 Judgement and Reasoning in the Child p. 10.  

differences, as we have shown, cover both:  (a) the general  
environment of the children as a stimulus to activity, and (b)  
the actual conditions of observation.  Which of these two has  
the more significant effect upon the results of Piaget's inquiry 
cannot be said without further experiment.  
   In any case, the question of the mental ratio may be quite  
irrelevant.  For wherever Piaget passes from his actual data to  
full interpretation, he offers us, not a statistical generalisation,  
so much as a picture of the child's mind as a homogeneous  
structure in which every part implies every other part at each  
stage.  The material given in this volume, however, shows  
many disparate types of behaviour coexisting in the same  
children, and ranging freely between the phenomena charac-  
terised by Piaget to clear logical statement and reasonable  
action.  Thus any final theory of development must allow  
for the fact that these different levels of functioning may  
occur alongside each other, and that the presence of one type  
of behaviour under certain conditions does not justify us in  
assuming that no other would be found at the same age, in  
different circumstances.  Intellectual growth certainly shows a  
psychological coherence but this coherence has the elasticity  
and vital movement of a living process, not the rigid formality  
of a logical system.  It is most fully expressed in the con-  
tinuity of development in noetic synthesis, and in the way  
in which the later and more highly integrated forms draw  
their life from the simpler and earlier.  
  
C. THE RELATION BETWEEN THOUGHT AND PHANTASY.  

   There remain to be discussed certain points which have  
so far been touched upon only incidentally in the course  
of the argument, but which are centrally important for the  
understanding of intellectual growth in very young children.  
Together, these make up the problems of interest, and of  
the relation between thought and phantasy.  
  At an earlier point, I drew upon the support of Ballard and  
Hazlitt for the view that progressive differences in interest may 
help to determine the characteristic modes of knowing and  
reasoning at different ages -- a view which has been further  
defined by the course of my general discussion.  I have sug-  
gested that the more intelligent children in these early years  
would seem to be those who show the most lively concern  
with things and events in the physical world, and those whose  
interest flows on to the more subtle and more fully integrated  
modes of handling experience.  
   The chief differentia between children of one age and of  
another may in the last resort turn out to be the direction  
of their concrete interests.  For whilst it is true that little  
children even as young as these do under favouring circum-  
stances concern themselves directly with physical objects and  
changes, yet it is also true that a very large part of their  
interest goes to quite other activities. They spend so much  
of their time in the dramatic representation of their own  
wishes and phantasies, that this might well be looked upon  
as the characteristic type of mental activity in these years.  
   When children are left quite free to occupy themselves as  
they wish, three main types of spontaneous activity seem to  
hold the field.  (a) The perfecting of bodily skills of all sorts, 
and joy in movement and the control of movement for its own  
sake.  (b) Make-believe play, varying a little in form accord-  
ing to sex, age, recent real experiences, and the material to  
hand.  Girls will more often initiate an unsophisticated family  
play, with father and mother and babies; the boys, more  
usually some heroic activity -- policeman, soldier, engine-  
driver, bus-driver, or "father in his office" -- remote from  
merely domestic affairs; but most of the boys (under six)  
of this group would often take a lively part in direct family  
play too.  The age factor was seen in the range of real  
experience woven into the make-believe game, and in the  
increasing verisimilitude of the dramatic representation; and  
of course, in the way the somewhat older boys began to refuse  
the family play in favour of the heroic.  If the children had  
recently been to the sea-side or to a circus or up to London,  
to the dentist or the doctor, these real happenings would  
determine the superficial content of their repetitive drama for  
the time.  And a new bicycle or toy motor or a set of new  
tools would lead them to be for the moment "racing cyclists"  
or "express motors" or "the carpenter come to mend  
your floor".  (c) The direct concern with physical things  
and with animals and plants for their own sake, and direct  
inquiry into their "why's" and "wherefore's", which we  
have so far largely been elaborating.  
   Now discovery, reasoning and thought may and do grow  
out of any one of these situations.  It is by no means only 
the last of the three that. gives rise to new knowledge and the  
growth of true thought.  For one of the outstanding facts  
about the mental life of children of these ages is that these  
different sorts of activity pass so readily into one another.  
Make-believe may at any moment slip over into genuine  
inquiry, and it offers many occasions for the furtherance of  
skill.  On the other hand, the pursuit of facts or the attempt  
to gain a new bodily skill may at any time give place to  
phantasy and dramatic representation.  This can be seen in  
the records dealing-with biological interests, as well as in  
those of this particular section.  
   I have already dealt fully enough with the way in which  
manipulative play furthers the confluence of experience (to  
use Hazlitt's suggestive term), this presently issuing in verbal 
understanding of, for example, mechanical relations.  I may  
therefore confine myself now to the relation between thought  
and imaginative play.  
  
Imaginative play.  What imaginative play does, in the first  
place, is to create practical situations which may often then be 
pursued for their own sake, and thus lead on to actual dis-  
covery, or to verbal judgment and reasoning.  This does not,  
of course, always happen.  Apart from outside stimulus, by  
suggestion from us or from the planned environment, the play  
of these children was sometimes purely repetitive, without pro-  
gression and without thought.  But at any moment, a new  
line of inquiry or argument might flash out, a new step in  
understanding be taken by some or all of the children playing  
together.  
   A few examples may suffice to make the point clear, but  
the records as a whole illustrate it throughout:   
   (a) "James (5;1) found a long pole, which led to a play  
of a butchers shop, in which Mrs. I. bought `meat' and  
he hooked it down with the pole, When selling a small piece  
of meat, he asked her, `Will that be enough -- how many  
children have you?' She replied `Fourteen'; he laughed  
and said promptly.  `Well, then, that won't be enough  
meat'."  
   (b) "James came down from the carpenter's room holding  
a monoplane he had made in wood -- a couple of feet long -- 
and walked round the schoolroom holding it in the air, saying,  
`It's flying across the Atlantic'.  Denis (3;10, his younger  
brother), watching this quietly, came running to Mrs. I. after   
a few moments, and said, `I want my gum-boots on, and I   
want to make a biplane'.  Mrs. I. was puzzled as to any   
connection between his gum-boots and a biplane, but made   
no comment on this.  She said, `Do you mean that you want   
to go up to the carpenter's room and make a biplane of   
wood?'  `Yes', and he took her hand to pull her up.  They   
ant up together, and he ran to Mr. H. saying, `I want to   
make a biplane'.  Mrs. I. left him there, after seeing him   
pick up a piece of wood, and say, `This will be the pro-   
peller'.  About twenty minutes later, he came downstairs   
holding a well-shaped biplane, about 15 ins. to 18 ins. long.    
Flushed with victory, he walked across the schoolroom, trying   
to get the attention of James and the others, and saying with   
intense earnestness, `Because, look!  Because, look!'  Then   
he ran to Mrs. I. with the repeated request for his gum-   
boots, and when these were put on; ran out into the garden,   
filled the sand-pit with water, and walked about in the water   
saying, `It's flying across the Atlantic'."   
   (c) "The children had made `trains' with chairs, and   
Dan told the others, `I'm going to London to-day -- really',   
with much emphasis.  Alfred said, `I've been to London   
once'.  Dan:  `No, you have not!' Alfred:  `Oh, yes,  
Ive been once, really'.  Then there was general talk about  
Dan going to London to-day really, while they were all  
pretending to go to Hunstanton, America and India, now." 
   Again, the incident on 21.10.25 led first to a whole  
series of make-believe plays, making "houses" and having  
elaborate parties in them, and then on to inquiry about the  
actual pulleys:  
   "The lights in the schoolroom are on pulleys, and Frank  
(5;11) to-day pointed out that white thing above the light  
(the white china weight on the pulley), and asked, `What  
is it for?'  Mrs. I. pulled the light down until it was within  
his reach, and he moved it up and down with great interest,  
calling the others to `come and see'.  The children then  
asked Mrs. I. to pull all the six lights down low, and they  
made `houses' under each of them.  They all felt the bulbs,  
`Feel how warm it is'."  The pulling up and down of the  
lights, for this frequent play of "houses", led to questions  
about the pulleys, and as the children could not see these  
properly owing to their height, we bought some aluminium  
pulleys, which they fixed up at various points on the walls,  
in the schoolroom and the garden; and then by using  
them in further play, the children came to understand their  
mechanism and practical value.  In the same way, much  
of the cooking came from their family play.  And the garden  
bonfire was often turned into an "engine" or a "house on  
fire", with "the firemen coming to put it out".  This, in  
turn, led to lots of talk about firemen and fire engines and  
hoses and ladders, etc.; and later on, to a visit to a real  
fire-station.   
   Again, in their family play, the children often modelled  
elaborate telephone systems from one "house" to another,  
which gave rise to many discussions as to the real construc-  
tion and arrangement of the wires and instruments, and the  
working of a telephone exchange; and was later on linked  
up with the visit to an actual exchange.   
   This first kind of relation between phantasy and thought  
may, perhaps, be described as a circumstantial relation.  It  
is, however, clear that the cognitive value of the play situa-  
tion rests also upon a second and deeper relation between  
thought and phantasy.   
 
Conative nexus of thought and phantasy.  Much of the  
child's earliest interest in physical objects is certainly  
derivative, and draws its impetus from early infantile wishes  
and fears in relation to its parents.  As I suggested in an  
earlier passage, the first value which the physical world  
has for the child is as a canvas upon which to project his  
personal wishes and anxieties, and his first form of interest  
in it is one of dramatic representation.  The psychoanalysis  
of young children by Klein's play technique1 has shown that  
 
 1 See the following papers of M. Klein:  
 "The Psychological Principles of Infant Analysis", International 
Journal of Psycho-Analysis, IV,4.   
  Contributions to "Symposium on Child Analysis", I.J.P.A.,  
VIII, 3.   
  "Early Stages in the Oedipus Conflict", I.J.P.A., IX, 2.   
  "Personification in the Play of Children", I.J.P.A., X, 2-3.   
  "Criminal Tendencies in Normal Children", British Journal of  
Medical Psychology, VII, 2.   
  And the following by M. N. SEARL:  
  "A Child Study", British Journal of Medical Psychology, IV, 3.   
Contribution to "Symposium on Child Analysis", I.J.P.A., VIII, 3.   
  "The Flight to Reality", I.J.P.A., X, 2-3.   
  "Danger Situations of the Immature Ego," I.J.P.A., X, 4.   

engines and motors and fires and lights and water and mud  
and animals have a profoundly symbolic meaning for them,  
rooted in infantile phantasy.  Their ability to concern them-  
selves with real objects and real happenings is a relative  
matter.  It exists, in a very effective sense, and can be used  
for intellectual growth, as I have shown.  But its deepest  
sources lie in the first "symbol-formation"1 of infantile  
mental life; and it will continue to renew its vitality from  
the repressed wishes and fears and phantasies of that period.   
   Psychoanalytic studies of little children, moreover, have  
also shown that in their free dramatic play, children work  
out their inner conflicts in an external field, thus lessening  
the pressure of the conflict, and diminishing guilt and anxiety. 
Such a lessening of inner tension through dramatic representa-  
tion makes it easier for the child to control his real behaviour, 
and to accept the limitations of the real world.  In other  
words, it furthers the development of the ego, and of the  
sense of reality.  It helps to free the child2 from his first  
personal schemas, and to enhance his readiness to understand  
the objective physical world for its own sake.  Imaginative  
play builds a bridge by which the child can pass from the  
symbolic values of things to active inquiry into their real  
construction and real way of working.   
   This, then, is one reason why, under the favourable con-  
ditions of ample opportunity for imaginative play and free  
dramatic representation, children can also show a relatively  
disinterested concern with actual things and physical processes. 
   It suggests, further, how serious a mistake it would be to  
try to make little children grow along the lines which these  
records show that they can follow.  They must be given a  
large measure of freedom to imagine or to think as the need  
and occasion arises.  If we tried to teach them these things  
  
  1 M. Klein.  "The Importance of Symbol Formation in the  
Development of the Ego." I.J.P.A., XI, 1. 
  
  2 This is true, of course, within the limits set by neurosis.  No  
amount of play will cure neurosis in a child; but in so far as his  
energies arc free for sublimations, his play will carry him on in the  
directions opened up by sublimations, thus lessening anxiety, and 
helping him to adapt himself to the demands of real social and  
intellectual life.   
  In my volume on Social Development in Young Children, I shall go  
much more fully into this aspect of the children's play.  Here it is  
but one link in our general argument.   
formally, or to exert pressure upon them in these directions,  
we should simply waste our time, and might even do positive  
harm.   
  
Effect of anxiety.  We had some striking evidence to confirm  
the view that anxiety is highly unfavourable to free inquiry  
and interest in the objective world,  
   Of Phineas, for example, whose passionate interest in things  
and events is strikingly shown in this section of the records,  
the following incidents are recorded under social relations:  
   "14.2,27.  Phineas (3;11) would not take off his hat and  
coat and gloves for a long time this morning.  He sat, with  
them on, on the edge of the platform in a very quiet and  
subdued mood, and did not for a long time join in any of  
the other children's occupations, nor show any of his usual  
interests.  This occurred every morning for about a week,  
Several times each morning he asked, `Is it time to go  
home yet?', although in the ordinary way he is reluctant  
to go, and far too absorbed in his pursuits to think of the  
end of the morning.  This week he has also been much more  
easily distracted by the others from any work he has been  
engaged on, leaving it every few minutes to take up theirs  
in a listless way, and then coming back to his own.  After  
about a week, he returned to his usual self again.  This has  
coincided with the birth of a baby brother (the third child  
in the family)." 
   The misery of fear and jealousy aroused by the arrival of  
the new baby had thus awakened all Phineas' deep infantile  
phantasies, and grave anxiety connected with them.  His  
general enterprise and active interest in the real world was  
quite inhibited and lost for the time being.   
   The same thing happened with Alice, aged just three.   
Usually independent, cheerful and full of fun, interested in  
the garden and the play material, she showed, after the birth  
of twins in her home, a marked return to babyish ways,  
crying at the least denial, getting easily tired and irritable,  
not able to do anything for herself, and quite dull and  
uninterested in playthings or the animals and plants that  
usually held her attention.  This listlessness stayed for about  
a week.  Then she began to tell us, `I've got twins' and  
again to take an active interest in her playmates and toys.   
   A third striking example was that of Christopher (5;9),   
after he had hurt Dan's finger with a hammer when they were  
playing together in Dan's home one afternoon.  (29.6.26)  
During the next two days, he was in a state of complete  
boredom and listlessness.  There were no other days like  
these in all the two years he was in the school, for he was  
normally most eager about all our games and all our inquiries.   
He was, for the time, quite unable to lose himself in any  
pursuit, and wandered about helplessly, asking, "What can  
I do, Mrs. I.?  What is there to do?"  
   These negative examples support the view that mental alert-  
ness and an active interest in objects are very dependent upon  
freedom from anxiety and inner tension.  They thus help  
to make clear the indirect aid to the intellectual life which  
make-believe play brings, by giving external body and form  
to the phantastic wishes and guilt of infancy, and thus allaying  
anxiety.   
   This second relation between thought and phantasy is based  
upon their conative nexus.  There is a third relation, however,  
which lies more strictly within the field of cognition.   
  
Make-believe and hypothesis.  The ability to evoke the  
past in imaginative play seems to me to be very closely  
connected with the growth of the power to evoke the  
future in constructive hypothesis, and to develop the con-  
sequences of "ifs".  Imaginative play at its most active  
may be looked upon as the prototype of "mental experi-  
ment" in the sense of Rignano and Mach.  Only now and  
then is it pure mechanical reproduction, of the kind which  
Spearman rejects from the sphere of cognition.  The child  
re-creates selectively those elements in past situations which  
can embody his emotional or intellectual need of the present.   
and he adapts the details moment by moment to the present  
situation.  (Incidentally, his play is a starting point not only 
for cognitive development but also for the adaptive and  
creative intention which when fully developed marks out the  
artist, the novelist, the poet.)  
   And in his make-believe, he takes the first steps towards  
that emancipation of meanings from the here and now of a  
concrete situation, which makes possible hypotheses and the  
"as if" consciousness.   
   Phineas provides us with some beautiful examples of this  
vivid construction of an imagined situation, and the degree  
to which it can be elaborated and organised.  
   On one occasion, he (3;50) and other children had made a 
"ship" in the schoolroom, with an arrangement of tables  
and chairs.  Phineas' part in this was comparatively a passive  
one, as he was but "a passenger" on the ship, and was  
going on with his own pursuits on the voyage, sitting at a  
table and sewing a canvas bag.  Miss D. was with him "in  
the ship" and all around them, the crew and the captain  
carried on the business of the voyage.  And when presently  
a new supply of thread was wanted, and Miss D. said to  
Phineas, "Will you get it out of the drawer?", Phineas  
replied, "I can't get out of the ship while it's going, can  
I?"  And called out in a stentorian voice to the "captain",  
"Stop the ship! I want to get out!"  After some demur,  
the ship was brought into "a landing-stage" and Phineas  
got out, secured his thread, and got in again, saying, "Now,  
it can go again!"  
   Another day, he (4;0) and some of the other younger  
children were taking part in dramatic expression with music,  
at the suggestion of Mrs. S.  They were pretending to gather  
flowers in a basket, while she played to them.  For one kind  
of music, they were to pick them from the ground; for  
another, to reach up and gather them from the bushes.  They  
did this for a little time, and then Phineas said, "Where's  
my basket -- I want a real basket", and took some raffia  
to twist it up into a basket.  Meanwhile, the others went on  
with the play of gathering flowers, and when presently the  
music became very soft, Phineas looked up from his basket,  
and said, "Those are only buds, aren't they?"  
   Again, he was making (4;0) an elaborate castle in the  
sand, with fences and paths, etc.  He got Miss C. to help  
him make the castle "smooth all over", and then said,  
"It's got no windows.  I'm not going to have any windows."  
Miss C., "Is there any light inside?"  "Yes, there's plenty  
of light.  There's electric lights; they're lovely ones, all  
coloured -- coloured lights!"  
   This wholehearted construction of any imaginative situation  
in which he was taking part was as characteristic of Phineas  
as his sustained interest in physical phenomena.  Rut the  
other children showed it, too.  
   How closely imaginative play and constructive hypothesis  
merge into each other is well illustrated in the material of  
the two sections of the records, imaginative and hypothetical  
application of knowledge, and make-believe and dramatised  
knowledge.  We might note here one or two examples, to  
make the point clear:  
   "Jessica (4;0) and Lena (4;2) were building castles in the 
sand, and told Mrs. I. that they were going to `build castles  
as high as the sky'.  But Jessica soon added, `If we did,  
the aeroplanes would knock them down'."  
   "Another day, a visitor told the children about her journey  
from Australia.  When they heard that she was several weeks  
on the boat, Dan (4;5) said, `Then you'd have beds on the  
boat?'  One of them asked, `Did you have breakfast and  
supper on the boat?'  `Yes.' Dan: `Then you'd have  
to have tables and chairs'.  A typical fusion of free phantasy  
and disciplined imagination is well shown in Frank's (5;3)  
statement when the children were making `trains' with  
chairs, `In my train, people sleep and have a wash.  There  
is a big boiler, and the engine heats it up'."  
   "Dan (3;8) ran round the garden as an aeroplane, `finding  
its way in the dark, and going up off the ground, getting 
smaller and smaller'."  
   These instances show us clearly this cognitive relation  
between thought and phantasy, and the way in which  
imaginative play fosters the development of thought and  
reasoning -- particularly when, as in our special technique,  
the openings it offers for discussion or experiment are taken  
up sympathetically by interested adults.  
 
Thought and phantasy not confused.  It may now be  
pointed out, moreover, that in spite of these various inti-  
mate relations between thought and phantasy, the child,  
at any rate beyond the first three years, very rarely  
confuses them.  He is almost as well aware as we our-  
selves of the difference between feeling and wishing, on the  
one hand, and thought on the other; between imagining  
the fulfilment of a wish, and actually gaining it.' Phantasy  
may lead him to create a make-believe situation, but he con-  
tinues to feel reality limiting him in that situation just as  
 
1 That is, of course, apart from neurosis, or from the temporary  
clouding of judgment under emotional stress.  

clearly as we do.  Even while he gives himself up to the  
complete dramatic realisation of a make-believe steamer, he  
knows it is make-believe.  He does not believe himself to  
be "on a ship" in the same sense in which he knows himself  
to be sitting on a chair.  And in the discussions quoted above,  
for example, the one about the beds and tables and chairs  
on the boat from Australia, his attitude of mind to these  
judgments is quite different from his attitude to his own mere  
imaginings.  
   I consider it very important that we should not blur the  
distinction between thought and phantasy, in our theories of  
intellectual growth.  The young infant is indeed "autistic"  
but we cannot justly say that his thought is autistic.  He  
does not yet think at all.  And the ego-centrism of the little  
child is strictly an affair of feeling and phantasy, not of 
thought.  He is ego-centric, in so far as he has not yet learnt  
to think.  But as experience comes to him, and noetic syn-  
thesis grows, true relational thought emerges more and more  
out of the matrix of feeling and phantasy.  And, as we have  
shown, his phantasy itself more and more takes up reality into  
its own tissue.  His elaborated make-believe is half phantasy  
half thought; and, as we have seen, makes a bridge from  
the one to the other,  
   But the essential characteristic of ego-centric ways of 
dealing  
with reality is surely that they have no "structure".  It is  
not that one kind of structure gives place to another; it is  
rather that there is a progressive penetration of feeling and  
phantasy by experience, a progressive ordering by relational  
thought of the child's responses to the world.  And this order-  
ing begins at least within the first year of life, and expresses 
itself clearly in non-ego-centric thought by, say, the fourth  
or fifth years.  
   The magic and omnipotence of the child are never crystal-  
lised out into organised systems of thought and custom, as  
the magic and omnipotence of the savage and the peasant  
are.  If the child grows up in a community where magic and  
"participations" and "belief without proof" and "com-  
mand without limit" are to a greater or lesser extent fixed  
and systematised into beliefs, then we can say that his thought  
becomes by so much ego-centric and syncretistic.  But in the  
young developing child, we have as yet only ego-centric  
impulses and syncretistic phantasies, which under favourable 
conditions become progressively disciplined into relational  
thought through the impact of actual experience.  In the  
psychosis, again, magical and syncretistic forms of phantasy  
have become fixed and systematised, and destroyed relational  
thought.  But the young child as such1 is no more a psychotic  
than he is a savage.  At no point of his mental history is he  
either of these, any more than he is ever a worm or a fish  
in the womb.  
   The way in which, in the middle of his beloved imaginative  
games, the child can yet be full of common-sense, and be  
ready to use even the imaginative situation for real gain, is  
delightfully shown in the incident of the "cafe at the sea-  
side":  
   "The children had made `a house at the sea-side', and  
at lunch-time, asked whether they `could have their dinner  
in a cafe at the sea-side'.  Mrs. I. agreed, and they asked  
her, `Will you be the waiter?'  After the meal, Priscilla  
said, and Dan and the others at once supported her, `In a  
cafe, you don't do your own washing up, do you?'  (There  
had long been the arrangement that each child was responsible  
for washing his own crockery after the mid-day meal.)  Mrs, I.  
agreed to this, and as she was `the waiter' she carried the  
play through and did the washing-up.  (On many days later,  
they wanted to have dinner `in a cafe' so as to avoid the 
washing-up; Mrs. I. only occasionally agreed.)  
   As N. Isaacs has expressed it,2 the child's belief and his  
ignorance should not be confused.  "The child doesn't  
believe, for example, that `everything is alive'; he simply  
doesn't know that everything isn't alive.  He simply turns  
to all kinds of things with the expectations, or the habitual  
modes of behaviour, which he has in fact drawn from his  
experience of living things.  He does not know that locom-  
tives don't want biscuits -- how should he?  He doesn't know  
this until he offers a biscuit to a locomotive (or things like  
it), and the locomotive takes no notice whatever, behaving  
quite differently from his brother or the dog.  Then he learns  
from the breakdown of this habit that there are limits to  
its applicability; that things like locomotives have to be  
 
1 There are cases of psychosis in children, of course, as of 
neurosis; and many neurotic symptoms in the "normal adult".  But 
that is  
another matter.  
2 In an unpublished manuscript.  

treated differently from his brother and the dog.  It is by  
an accumulation of experiences of this kind that he learns  
to distinguish between what is alive and what isn't, what  
is human and what isn't.  They give meaning, at once  
specifying and limiting, to the notion of aliveness.  If in  
fact he does not occupy himself much with both the ways  
of living things on the one hand, and the behaviour of  
non-living on the other, the distinction will as a matter of  
course remain a very blurred one.  There will be neither two  
distinct bodies of constellated associations, nor a clear 
contrast  
between them.  Sooner or later, in a modern civilised com-  
munity, the child cannot miss collecting enough distinctive  
knowledge to be able to group the differences between living  
and non-living things (and for that matter, between human  
motive and purposes, animal behaviour, and non-organic  
actions), with rough correctness.  In a savage community,  
no such well defined demarcation may be reached.  It is  
simply a matter of the amount of social interest and social  
knowledge attached to the distinction, and to the two sides  
of it.  Until there is sufficient basis for, knowledge, the 
raising  
of the question, which has not been thought about before,  
can only result in a groping, confused answer, divided between  
vagueness about the word `alive', and vagueness as to  
what the felt distinction between things connected with that  
word, i.e., some living things, and other things, actually  
consists in.  This kind of state of mind is clearly shown in  
the way in which young children actually deal with the  
question, unless they have been stimulated and guided to  
building up a body of solid knowledge about living things."  
   Thus: through (1) the continuous growth of actual experi-  
ence. both of physical fact and of other people's behaviour,  
and (2) the continuous development of intelligence itself, as 
noetic synthesis, the child becomes able to build the pattern  
of the objective world more and more securely into his modes  
of response.  Ego-centric phantasy thus becomes more and  
more automatically tested against recognised experience. and  
more and more transformed by real situations.  In later  
development, the direct expression of phantasy becomes more  
closely limited to imaginative art and literature.  Yet it leaves 
a permanent representative behind in the realm of thought  
itself, in the shape of the disciplined imagination of "as ifs"  
and of scientific hypothesis.  
A note in conclusion.  Perhaps I may clod my theoretical  
analysis of the cognitive behaviour of these little children by  
referring to the first reports which we bad about them from the  
various preparatory schools to which they scattered when thE  
Malting House School closed down in 1929.  These schools are  
all of a very different type, but as they draw their children 
from  
the same social class as ours, it is probable that the average  
mental ratio was very much the same.  Yet from them all, we  
had such comments as that our children were "remarkable  
for their intelligence and adaptability"; "we have never  
had such adaptable children"; "they are so very eager to  
learn."  Several of them went within a few weeks to the to? of  
their forms in the new school, in spite of the fact that with us 
ordinary academic learning had never been pressed, and that  
some of them may have been below the normal standard in  
reading  writing at first.  There was only one exception to  
these appreciative reports, in the case of a child with whom we  
should have predicted comparative lack of success.  This  
was a highly neurotic child, with a strongly negative attitude  
towards people and things.  He was much happier while  
he was with us, and became more friendly and spontaneous  
but his defensive attitude to life was too strong for him to  
make free use of the rich and varied opportunities which  
the school offered.  
   These reports can only mean that the experiences which  
the children of this group had enjoyed with us had enabled  
them to mobilise fully the resources of their native intelligence 
in actual situations and this, because their intellectual inter- 
ests had not only not been inhibited by fears nor starved by  
the indifference of adults, but had been freely met with active  
understanding and the means of full sustenance. 
 
                        CHAPTER FOUR  
  
               DISCOVERY, REASONING AND THOUGHT:  
                           RECORDS  
 
   I. -- APPLICATION OF KNOWLEDGE  
       A.1.  FORMAL AND THEORETICAL APPLICATION  
         2.  IMAGINATIVE AND HYPOTHETICAL APPLICATION  
         3.  MAKE-BELIEVE AND DRAMATISED KNOWLEDGE  
         4.  COMPARISONS AND ANALOGIES  
       B.     PRACTICAL INSIGHT AND RESOURCE  
 
  II. -- INCREASE OF KNOWLEDGE:  PROBLEMS AND  
         EXPERIMENT, OBSERVATION AND DISCOVERY  
 III. -- SOCIAL INTERCHANGE OF KNOWLEDGE  
       A. REASONING: "WHY'S" AND "BECAUSE'S" AND  
            OTHER LOGICAL INTERESTS  
       B. DISCUSSIONS: CORRECTIONS AND SELF-CORRECTIONS  
  IV. -- MISCELLANEOUS  
  
            I.  APPLICATIONS OF KNOWLEDGE  
A.1.  FORMAL AND THEORETICAL APPLICATION  
 
   14.11.24.  Frank (5;0) pointed to the lid of the vegetable  
dish, and said, "Look. it's a polygon".  Frank drew and  
cut out a, picture of a plant in a flower-pot, calling it "a real 
 
daffodil".  
   5.2.25.  When looking at a picture of aeroplanes, showing  
some on the ground and some in the air, Dan said, (3;8)  
"When they are on the ground they are big, and when they  
are up in the sky they are small".  
   25.2.25.  Dan (3;9) had modelled an engine, and wanted  
Mrs. I. to make a step for it.  She was not quite sure  
wanted it and said, "I don't know how to make it".  He  
replied; "I'll show you how it goes"; he went to the shelf,  
and arranged the bricks step-wise, saying, "This is how it  
goes, you go Up-up-up.  Will you make it like that?"  
When Mrs. I. did so, he said, "Yes, we can go up, up on  
to the engine now".  
   27.2.25.  Frank (5;4) asked "couldn't we arrange all the  
tables in a polygon?"  He told Mrs. I. and the children,  
"I can make the letter M with myself -- and a triangle too"  
 -- bending to the ground to do so.  
 
 
   21.4.25.  Harold (5;3) and Paul brought some shells which  
they had gathered at the sea-side during the holiday.  They  
were put into a large bowl with water.  There was also some  
seaweed, which, Harold said, "will tell you when it's going  
to rain, and will tell you the time".  When he had put it  
into water, Harold said, "Now it will rain -- the seaweed  
is wet".  
   8.7.25.  While Dan (4;1) was sharpening a pencil, he  
talked to Mrs. I. about "marrying".  He said, "I can't be  
married to a boy, and Priscilla can't be married to a lady".  
And then, "Priscilla can't he married to you, but I can.  
Yes, because you are a lady".  But after a pause, "No,  
boys can't be married to ladies".  
   10.12.25.  Tommy and Christopher had a conversation in  
the corner about steam.  Christopher (5;3) said, "Steam's  
really water, but it's not the same as the steam of the bon-  
fire"; and "steam really makes the engine go".  
   18.1.26.  Dan's father was abroad, and Dan (4;8) spoke of  
the time it would be before his return.  He said, "It'll be  
about as long again before he comes back as it has been  
now since he went away".  (His mother reports that this  
generalisation is his own, based on replies to questions about  
the number of days.)  
   13.5.26.  The tap in the cloakroom would not turn off  
easily, for some days, and the children had suggested sending  
for the plumber.  To-day he came to put on a new washer.  
The children crowded round to watch with great excitement.  
The plumber said something about "the main pipe" and  
Dexter (4;10) said, "It's called that because it runs under-  
neath the main road".  
   8.6.26.  Christopher put a thermometer into a jar of hot  
water, and Dan (5;0) told him (having used it the day before),  
"It goes up when, you put it in hot, and goes down when  
you put it in cold".  
   11.6.26.  A heavy thunderstorm came on, and the children  
watched it from the summerhouse.  They had noticed the  
heavy black clouds earlier and said, "It's going to rain".  
   19.7.26.  When Mrs. I. lifted up the smouldering rubbish  
in the bonfire to put more paper under it and make it flame,  
Dan said, "Oh, you are brave!"  Later on, Jessica used  
the word "brave" without appearing to understand it, and  
Dan (5;2) corrected her, telling her, "`Brave' is when you  
stand close to something you don't like, and don't go away".  
   11.12.26.  The children had found two or three holes in the  
trunk of n apple-tree, partly filled up with leaf-mould.  They  
brought water and poured it into one hole, and were very 
amused when it came out of another lower down.  Dan, look-  
ing at a hole higher up than the one they poured the water  
into, said, "Perhaps it'll come out of this one".  Miss D.  
asked, "Do you think that's possible?"  Conrad (5;11)  
replied, "No, not unless there's pressure behind it".1  
   19.1.27.  Using the blocks to build a bridge, Phineas (3;10)  
took two triangular bricks and fitted them together, saying,  
"These go together, then they go the same as these" --   
pointing to a square one.  
   1.2.27.  The bonfire was smouldering. as the rubbish was  
damp.  Phineas (3;11) said, "It hasn't gone out when it's  
smoking".  Then he asked, "Where's the light?"  Mrs. I.  
replied, "It's gone out".  He said, "It's gone to see its  
mummy".  Then, "Match it again".  They found a few  
dry shavings and lit it again.  
   2.2.27.  Phineas often asks people "to match it again",  
if the bonfire seems to be going out.  
   3.3.27.  In the garden, the sun was hidden by a cloud  
for a few minutes.  When it came out again, Phineas (4;0)  
remarked, "The sun's come out again.  The sun makes it  
warm and cold, doesn't it?  Now it's warm".  
   18.3.27.  Phineas (4;0) was blowing through a rubber tube  
in water, and watching the bubbles rise and break.  Miss C.  
asked, "What's making the bubbles?"  He said, "The  
wind in here" (pointing to the tube).  "Where does the  
wind come from?"  "From my mouth, because I'm  
blowing."  
  
A.2.  IMAGINATIVE AND HYPOTHETICAL APPLICATION  
   16.10.24.  When the bonfire was burning in the garden,  
Christopher (4;1) said, "Let's make the flames high! Let's  
make them go up to the sky!"  George (4;1) remarked,  
"If you do that, you'll burn God".  
   11.2.25.  The children were speaking of "going up into  
the sky", and Theobald (4;11) said, "I'd like to see the  
birds and the fairies"; Frank (5;3) added, "Oh, yes, and  
Jesus".  
   24.2.25.  The children found some ice in the wheelbarrow  
in the garden, and broke it up, talking about it interestedly.  
Theobald (5;0) said, "My hands are so cold, they'll melt all  
away".  
   25.2.25.  Theobald (5;0) drew with chalk on the floor "a  
mountain going up into the sky", and then walked along  
some lines saying, "I'm going up into the sky".  
 
1 See footnote on p. 81. 

   Frank and Dan were climbing on the window-sill, and  
Frank said he would "push Dan's foot up".  Paul (3;11)  
said, "Yes, we'll push Dan up to God".  Frank (5;4):  
"Yes, and perhaps He'll kill him".  
   30.4.25.  Mrs. I. overheard Harold, Paul and Theobald  
talking in the sand-pit about Christopher, who is not present  
this week.  They had evidently been discussing where he  
was, and one boy said, "Perhaps he's dead".  
   16.6.25.  There was some talk among the children about  
the effect of water upon the bonfire.  Duncan (7;0) said, "If  
you put water on, it makes more blazes".  Mrs. I. said to  
him, "Let's do it and see".  He put some on, and saw  
that it put the flames out; but he went on to say, "After  
it has dried, it makes more blaze -- Auntie told me so.  She  
said that once she nearly had the house on fire because she  
tried to put it out with water".  (Phantasy or mis-hearing?)  
Mrs. I. suggested his trying further to see the effect, but  
he preferred to talk about it dogmatically.  
   19.6.25.  The children had made a bonfire of garden  
rubbish, and Duncan (7;0) put an old tennis ball on to the  
fire, telling the others, "It will make a smell -- and perhaps  
it'll explode". But nothing happened, as it did not fall into  
the hot part of the fire.  
   22.6.25.  A lady visitor came who talked to the children  
about her journey from Australia.  When they heard that she  
was several weeks on the boat, Dan (4;1) said, "Then you'd  
have to have beds on the boat", and one of the others.  
"Did you have breakfast and supper on the boat?"  
"Yes." Dan: "Then you'd have to have tables and  
chairs  
   19.10.25.  The children were in the garden watching an  
aeroplane.  They shouted up to it, as they often do, "Come  
down, come down"; but Dan (4;5) said, "The man can't  
hear us when we shout, because of the noise of the engines".  
   Christopher took one of the paper bags to burst, and he  
and Priscilla called it "fireworks".  They looked for more  
bags to burst, and as there weren't any, decided to make  
some.  Mrs. I. asked, "How will you make them?"  
"We'll sew them," said Christopher.  Frank (5;11) remarked  
at once, "That won't do.  They won't burst, because the  
air will come out of the holes you make".  They decided  
to gum them, and spent some time trying to make this  
satisfactory.  
   19.1.26.  Frank (6;2) told Mrs. I., "I had a dream last  
night", but did not say what it was.  She told him how  
she had dreamt that she found the pair of scissors (which had
been missing from the schoolroom) in a box.  This made him 
laugh, and he said, It seems as if you saw it, doesn't it? 
   9.3.26.  The children tried to drag a 50-lb. iron weight, 
and by putting a rope through the handle and pulling jointly, 
they managed to move it quite a long way.  Priscilla (6;6) 
remarked, "They would be very large scales to use such a 
weight". 
   26.4.26.  The children talked of how the garden would 
look to the man in the aeroplane Mrs. I. showed them an 
aerial photograph, and they identified trees, houses and the 
road.  Christopher (5;8) said the man in the aeroplane would 
"see some little specks walking about" and the others agreed 
that he would see "only the tops of heads".  When later 
they made a model of the garden in plasticine, some of them 
put in small oval lumps, "that's how we look to the man 
in the aeroplane". 
   18.5.26.  There had been much interest in maps for some 
time, and the children had made a map of Cambridge.  Today 
Mrs. I. told the children she was going to cycle to a place 
she hadn't been to before, and that she should take a map 
and look out the way she had to go.  Christopher (5;9) said, 
"Yes, when you come to cross-roads you'll have to get off 
and look at the map.  Yes, you won't want to when there's 
only one road : when you come to where the roads join, then 
you'll have to look at the map". 
   1.6.26.  Dexter (4;11) had been looking at the map of 
Cambridge that he and Mrs. I. and the other children had 
made, and remarked, "We haven't put in Storey's Way". 
Mrs. I. asked him if he would do so.  He took a pencil and 
did so at once.'starting it at the Madingley Road end, putting 
in the two right-angled turns; the only mistake being in its 
relation to Girton Road, which he didn't notice until after- 
wards, but tried to put in at the point where he left off 
Storey's Way. 
   22.6.26.  In the afternoon, Herbert and Alfred were coming 
down the stairs from the gallery, and Herbert slipped on to 
Alfred, so that they both fell heavily to the bottom.  They 
were not hurt, but their cries brought the other children to 
ask what had happened.  Dan begged them to show him 
"how it happened".  Mrs. I. made some remark about the 
steepness of the stairs, and Dan (5;1) replied, "Yes, because 
there's not enough room at the bottom.  If there was more 
room, we could push the bottom of the stairs out, and they 
wouldn't be so steep". 
   24.10.26.  Jane and Dan came to tea with Mrs. I., walking 
across the fens.  Dan's mother came to take them home, and 
said to Dan on arriving, "You did find your way then?" 
Dan (5;5) replied with a smile, "Well, I shouldn't be here 
if I hadn't, should I?"  His mother said, "Well, I thought 
perhaps you might have had to ask your way".  Mrs. I. 
said, "Yes, perhaps you might have had to ask a policeman, 
`Do you know the way to Mrs. I.'s house?'"  Dan replied, 
"Well, perhaps there might be more Mrs. I.'s -- three!" 
Mrs. I.:  "Well, if there were more, what would you say 
then?"  "I should ask him if he could tell me the way to 
Mrs. Susan I.'s."  "Perhaps there might be more than one 
Mrs. Susan I.!"  He replied, "Well, I should tell him the 
number if I could remember it -- 47, Hills Road". 
   13.11.26.  When Conrad (5;10) was going to bed, he said, 
"I might go to sleep by mistake at the wrong time next 
year".  He said this several times, and then added, "if it 
gets dark in the day-time".  Evidently someone had told 
him about the eclipse expected in June. 
   16.11.26.  Jessica and Lena told Mrs. I. they were "going 
to build castles as high as the sky", but Jessica (4;1) added,
"If we did, the aeroplanes would knock them down". 
   11.12.26.  A new carpenter's bench had come, and the 
children looked at it with great interest.  They wondered what 
the big wooden screws were for.  Conrad (5;11) said, "I 
know, perhaps they're to steady the wood against". 
   3.2.27.  The children were looking at pictures of ships, and 
someone suggested how pleasant it would be to have the 
school on a ship.  The children fell in eagerly with this idea, 
and worked it out in all details in their talk.  Dan (5;8) then 
said, "But what I should like best of all would be to have 
the school in an airship!  The airship would be better than 
the ship, because with it you could go over the dry land, 
but the ship would only go on water".  Then he added, 
"You can go round the world on a ship because the river 
goes all round the world".  But presently he said, "We 
can't, can we?  We couldn't have the school inside the 
airship because it would be all round, and we would have to 
walk up the sides".  Mrs. I. suggested that "perhaps we 
could put straight walls inside and a straight floor".  Dan: 
"Oh yes".  Mr. B. pointed out that the ceiling of the room 
we were in slanted very much, and said, "You wouldn't 
mind it being a bit round as well.  It's all right. isn't it?" 
Dan agreed.  Priscilla (6;6) then said, "If you put walls 
inside the airship, you couldn't look out -- you couldn't get 
to the window".  Mrs. I. looked at the walls of the room 
they were in, which had dormer windows.  "Oh, yes," 
they said, "it would be all right to have it like that." 
   June, 27.  The children wanted to re-paint the seesaw, and 
Joseph was eager to do it at once.  Mrs. I. pointed out to 
him that if they did do it to-day, they would not have the 
use of it for some days. until the paint was dry.  Neverthe- 
less, he wanted to begin at once.  James (5;2), however, said, 
"It would be a good thing to `wait until the last day of the 
term, and then it would have all the holiday to dry in". 
 
A.3.  MAKE-BELIEVE AND DRAMATISED KNOWLEDGE

   13.11.24.  Harold (4;11) and Benjie (4;1) broke up a piece 
of the garden path with a hoe, saying, "We're mending the 
road". 
   11.12.24.  The children were playing a game of "shoot- 
ing" with sticks as guns.  Frank (5;1) suddenly said, "I'm 
going to shoot Jesus -- Bang! bang!" -- pointing his stick 
upwards. 
   26.1.25.  Frank (5;3) invented a game and told the others 
how to play it.  They stood round the room while one of the 
children spoke the following (Frank's composition): "The 
beautiful snowy mountains, the sun and the moon and the 
stars; the sun is shining on the mountains the sun melts 
the snow away; and then there are great waves on the sea,
and the waves knock over the small boats".  At this, the 
one who spoke had to chase all the others and catch them. 
At first Frank was very shy about telling his verse, and 
whispered it first to Dan and then to Mrs. I.; but presently 
he stood up and said it to everyone. 
   3.2.25.  When they were making "trains", Frank (5;3) 
said, "In my train people sleep and have a wash.  There 
is a big boiler, and the engine heats it up". 
   5.2.25.  Dan (3;9) ran round the garden as an aeroplane. 
"finding its way in the dark, and going up off the ground, 
getting smaller and smaller". 
   10.3.25.  Paul (4;0) looked in the mirror, and said laugh- 
ingly to Mrs. I., "There's another Malting House School, 
there's another one -- I can see the room and the people". 
Mrs. I. said, "It's a reflection, isn't it?"  "Oh yes -- it's 
really the same school", he said. 
   17.3.25.  Harold got a stick for a gun and said he was 
going to shoot Tommy when he had put some gunpowder in. 
He used sand as gunpowder. and then shot at Tommy saying, 
"Bang, bang".  Frank (5;4) said, "You did not say. 
`Bang'. did you?"  Harold said.  "No".  Tommy said, 
"Yes, you did".  Frank said, "No, it was the gun that 
said it". 
   23.3.25.  Frank modelled a "grandfather's clock", 
putting sticks at the side for pillars.  Later on, he called it 
"a station clock", and fixed it up on the edge of the long 
table.  Paul (4;0) seeing this, said, "Station clocks often 
have weighing machines on them", and modelled a weighing 
machine to stand beside it.
   10.6.25.  Mrs. I. drew an ellipse on the floor, using nails 
and string to guide the chalk.  The children were interested, 
and all began to do the same.  Frank (5;6) drew an ellipse, 
then made a circle and drew triangles inside it; then drew 
two triangles on the same base inside the ellipse, following 
the line of the string with the chalk.  Duncan (6;11) made 
a narrow ellipse, and then drew another over this in a 
transverse position, but the same size, and arranged quite 
symmetrically.  Their interest then passed on to the actual 
hammering in of the nails, largely because Dan found a diffi- 
culty in hammering the nails in, and kept the hammer for 
some time. 
   23.10.25.  Priscilla (6;2) and Dan (4;5) found a small 
snail, and remarked on the shape of the shell.  With Mrs. I., 
they traced out the spiral shape. She drew a spiral on the 
board for them; they also drew and modelled it.  Then 
Mrs. I. drew a large spiral on the floor, so that they could 
walk on the line, and they did so with great delight and 
interest, "going in and out", for half-an-hour.  On more 
than one occasion in later days, they spontaneously drew, or 
asked Mrs. I. to draw, a spiral for them "to walk on". 
   8.3.26.  The children had made "a house at the sea- 
side and at lunch-time, asked whether they could have 
their dinner in a cafe at the sea-side".  Mrs. I. agreed, and 
they asked her, "Will you be the waiter?".  After the 
meal, Priscilla (6;7) said, and Dan and the others at once 
supported her, "In a cafe, you don't do your own washing 
up, do you?"  (There had long been the arrangement that 
each child was responsible for washing his own crockery 
after the mid-day meal.)  Mrs. I. agreed to this, and as she 
was "the waiter", she carried the play through and did 
the washing-up.  (On many days later, they wanted to have 
dinner "in a cafe", so as to avoid the washing-up; Mrs. I. 
only occasionally agreed.) 
   16.4.26.  The children had made "trains" with chairs, 
and Dan (4;11) told the others, "I'm going to London 
to-day -- really with much emphasis.  Alfred (4;4) said, 
"I've been to London once".  Dan: "No, you have 
not!"  Alfred:  "Oh, yes.  I've been once, really."  Then 
there was general talk about Dan going to London to-day 
really, while they were all pretending to go to Hunstanton, 
America and India, now. 
   19.4.26.  Tommy (4;2) modelled "a goose", and told 
Miss B. "its flying", moving it in the air.  He was asked, 
"How can it fly when it hasn't any wings?"  His first 
reply was, "The wings are inside"; but presently he 
modelled the wings on to it. 
   1.5.27. James (5;1) found a long pole, which led to a 
play of a butcher's shop, in which Mrs. I. bought "meat" 
and he hooked it down with the pole.  When selling a small 
piece of meat, he asked her, "Will that be enough -- how 
many children have you?"  She replied, "Fourteen"; 
he laughed and said promptly, "Well, then, that won't be 
enough meat". 
   29.10.27.  At lunch the children were eating chip potatoes, 
long and thin ones.  Denis (3;10) took one up in his fingers, 
held it upright on top of his head, and then said (to nobody 
in particular), in his deep voice, "This is a funnel, and 
the engine driver thinks it's a potato, so he gets out of the 
engine" (bringing the potato down to the level of his mouth), 
"and he eats it -- and it is a potato!"  (Conrad passed near 
at the moment.)  "It is a potato, Conrad!"  he added, with 
emphasis and laughter. 
   30.10.27.  James (5;7) came down from the carpenter's 
room holding a monoplane he had made in wood -- a couple 
of feet long -- and walked round the schoolroom holding it in 
the air, saying, "It's flying across the Atlantic".  Denis 
(3;10, his younger brother), watching this quietly, came 
running to Mrs. I. after a few moments, and said, "I want 
my gum-boots on, and I want to make a biplane".  Mrs. I. 
vas puzzled as to any connection between his gum-boots and 
a biplane, but made no comment on this.  She said, "Do 
you mean that you want to go up to the carpenter's room 
and make a biplane of wood?"  "Yes," and he took her 
hand to pull her up.  They went up together, and he ran to 
Hr. H. saying, "I want to make a biplane".  Mrs. I. left 
him there, after seeing him pick up a piece of wood and 
say, "This will be the propeller".  About twenty minutes 
later, he came downstairs holding a well-shaped biplane, 
about 15 ins. to 18 ins. long.  Flushed with victory, he walked 
across the schoolroom, trying to get the attention of James and 
the others, and saying with intense earnestness, "Because, 
look! Because, look!  Then he ran to Mrs. I. with the 
repeated request for his gum-boots, and when these were put 
on, ran out into the garden, filled the sand-pit with water,
and walked about in the water, saying, "It's flying across 
the Atlantic". 
 
A.4.  COMPARISONS AND ANALOGIES 

   12.3.25.  When Martin (3;0) was painting, he dropped the 
paint-box.  He said to Mrs. I., "I dropped the paint-box --  
did you hear it?  It made a loud noise just like guns make a 
loud noise". 
   25.5.25.  The children were blowing soap bubbles, and 
were very interested in the shapes of the bubbles.  Frank (5;6) 
said of one, "Oh, it's a sort of polygon". 
   8.6.26.  The children and Mrs. I. boiled a glass jar of 
water, and they watched the bubbles rising.  Christopher 
(5;9) said that "they dance like rain on the ground". 
   16.6.26.  The children were writing and posting letters to 
Christopher's father in Switzerland, and the word "two" 
came in.  Priscilla (6;10) asked Mrs. I. to spell it, and when 
she wrote "two", she said, "That's not 2 -- you should 
put `to'".   Mrs. I. told her that there were three different 
ways of writing the sound, with three different meanings. 
The children then supplied instances of these different words, 
with much amusement.  Christopher (5;9) then said, "Yes, 
and there is C, the letter C, and there is sea bathing, and the 
see when I say `I see'". 
   25.2.27.  Jane put a few drops of Jeyes' fluid into water, 
so that Phineas (3;11) could watch it diffuse through the 
water and change colour.  He emptied this away and got 
fresh water, and repeated it several times.  He said that it 
looked "bluey", "greeny", or "browny", according to 
the amount of Jeyes' used; and he said several times, "It 
looks like smoke". 
   1.5.27.  James (5;1) saw a window pole, and said, "It's 
like the pole they use in butchers' shops to get the meat down 
with". 
 
B.  PRACTICAL INSIGHT AND RESOURCE 

   17.10.24.  The children had been carrying water out into 
the garden in cans and jugs, and as there were some damp 
feet, Mrs. I said, "No more to-day".  Tommy (2;8) was 
doleful when Mrs. I. would not let him take more, and passing 
back through the schoolroom, he saw the vases on the tables, 
full of flowers.  Without saying anything, he put down his 
can on the floor, and took each of the four vases in turn, 
lifting the flowers out, pouring the water into his can, and 
putting the flowers back, and the vase back on the table.  He
then walked out into the garden smiling, and saying to the
others, "Tommy has some water now!"
   29.10.24.  Benjie (4;0) and Christopher (4;1) wanted to 
drag some large logs of wood from one side of the garden 
to the other; they took walking sticks and hooked them into 
projecting branches on the logs, and dragged them, with 
much pride.  
   8.12.24.  There is a skylight window on the roof, and a 
cord hangs down from it.  Harold (4;1), seeing this cord 
swinging, said, "Oh, we could fasten an aeroplane on that, 
and it would fly".  He made one of the kind the children often 
make, fastening two or three bricks together transversely with 
plasticine, and hung it on the cord.  The others watched it 
swinging, and presently each did the same, taking turns. 
They set the cord swinging freely and watched it with delight. 
   5.3.25.  The children built up a large bonfire with sticks 
and shavings left by the carpenter.  It burnt very clearly and 
they said, "Lets boil some water on it".  They made a 
tripod with large sticks and hung a bucket on it with a string, 
and got a can of water hot.  Later they stood cans on the 
fire itself.  Harold (5;2) said, "Now I'll be able to have 
some hot water to wash my hands with", and asked Mrs. I. 
to help him carry in a bucket of warm water, and washed his 
hands in it. 
   21.4.25.  Frank (5;6) suggested that they should make a 
tent on the lawn with some sticks.  He told Mrs. I. how to 
make it -- "You put the sticks up, and put something over 
them, and then you have a tent". 
   5.6.25.  Duncan (6;11) told the others, "I know how to 
take the piano to pieces", and showed them how to take 
off the front and the cover of the keyboard.  The others 
crowded round and looked at the mechanism eagerly. 
   8.6.25.  Duncan (6;11) again took off the front of the piano, 
the others helping and showing great interest in watching the 
hammers strike the wires when the keys were depressed. 
   15.6.25.  The children made a large square "oven" with 
the real bricks we have for building, and burned hay in it. 
They arranged holes in the bricks at the bottom, to create a 
draught. 
   16.6.25.  The piano-tuner came, and Duncan (7;0) took 
the front of the piano off for him.  He told the other children, 
"I know how he does it". 
   15.7.25.  Duncan (7;1) and Harold (5;6) arranged the 
ladder, supported by a table with boxes piled on it, to reach
the cherries they had not been able to reach in the ordinary
way.  It was excellently planned and carried out. 
   3.12.25.  The children had asked for coloured paper to 
decorate the schoolroom.  Mrs. I. took some today, and 
they festooned it, fastening the paper up with drawing pins. 
They twisted paper round the pillar under the gallery, and 
Christopher wanted to have this "right up to the top". 
There was much discussion as to how this could be done. 
They found they could not push the pins into the pillar itself,
as it was made of iron.  Mrs. I. said, "Well, what shall we 
do?"  Priscilla (6;4) suggested, "Take it right up there 
above the pillar, and push the pins into the gallery, because 
that's made of wood".  They all helped to do this. 
   18.1.26.  Dan (4;8) led the others in climbing up to the 
top of the cupboard in the cloakroom, to jump off.  In 
climbing up, he used the handle of the top drawer as a lever 
to pull himself up by, asking Christopher to "push hard" 
on the front of the drawer so as to keep it closed tight and 
give the leverage. 
   28.4.26.  The children again asked for help in lifting the 
middle section of the platform, and when after a time, Mrs. I. 
said she was not going to help any more, they were keenly 
disappointed.  Then, however, Dan (4;8) said, "I know, 
I know! what we could do.  We could get the big box from 
the cloakroom and lift the platform again and push it under. 
That would hold it up for us!"  Mrs. I. agreed to help 
in this, and the children brought the box and pushed it 
under.  This raised the platform about two feet, and they 
at once began to use it as a jumping board.  (On several 
occasions during the next few weeks, this was repeated with 
great zest.) 
   4.5.26.  Mrs. I. had fixed the pulleys up above the sand- 
pit, and the children had used them in their play for hauling 
buckets, etc.  To-day, Christopher (5;8) said he wanted to 
be hauled up on a large wooden bus, and he sat on it while 
Mrs. I. and the other children pulled on the rope.  As soon 
as it was raised from the ground, the end Christopher sat 
on tipped down and he fell off.  He therefore piled sand on 
the other end "to balance it", and asked the others to pull 
again.  This kept him straight. 
   16.11.26.  Priscilla and Dan brought up to the workroom 
a small milk-cart.  They showed Mrs. I. that the handle was 
broken off in one place, and said, "We want to take it off 
altogether".  She said, "How can we do it?"  Dan 
suggested a screw-driver but when they began to use it, 
Priscilla (7;3) said, "It won't do, because it's a screw with 
a nut -- its not one of those with a place to put the screw- 
driver".  She said, "Let's try pincers", and with a pair 
of pliers, taking turns at using them, they got the handle off. 
   3.12.26.  Phineas (3;10) had been learning how to make 
paper rings, and fasten them together into streamers, with 
strips of coloured paper which Priscilla had brought.  To-day
he said, "I want to make some more"; Mrs. I. told him 
that Priscilla had taken the rest of the paper home.  He 
replied, "But we have some in the school.  We could cut 
those large pieces with scissors, couldn't we and then make 
them into rings".  He then did this, cutting the large pieces 
up into the necessary strips. 
   6.12.26.  Mrs. I. had given the children wooden laths to 
use with nails and hammer, and Phineas (3;so) said be wanted 
to "make a house " -- "as big as this house".  He was 
very anxious to do it, and kept looking up at the roof of thE 
schoolroom, to compare sizes.  He showed Mrs. I. and Miss C. 
how he wanted the laths put together, and Miss C. helped 
him to nail them in position.  In the end he produced a large 
rectangle, 20 ft. by 10 ft., of laths nailed together.  He seemed 
very pleased with this, and wanted to take it home.  He 
quickly realised, however, that he couldn't carry it, and made 
no particular demur. 
   21.5.27.  Jane (10:8) demonstrated the new drill to Miss D., 
explaining accurately how a particular mechanism lowered the 
drilling tool.  She drilled several holes, and then explained 
the use of the calipers, spirit level and chisels. 
   23.1.27.  The children wanted to take planks out into the
snow to use as toboggans, and drilled holes in them to put 
ropes through, so that they could drag them. 
   2.3.27.  Phineas (4;0) wanted water for his garden, and 
there was some in the leaky barrow.  He put a pail under 
the barrow, and asked Miss C. to "make it run through". 
She said, "How?"  "Tip it", he replied.  He watched it 
with great delight, saying, "See the water running".  Miss C. 
said, "The barrow's heavy to hold".  He brought a brick 
and filed it under the wheel, so as to keep the barrow tipped. 
But not all the water ran out, so he said, "Tip it some 
more", and brought a second brick to hold it at a sharper 
angle.  When Miss C. raised it high, he said, "Be careful, 
don't tip it right over". 
   3.3.27.  As a development of the children's interest in 
swinging, and various questions, a pendulum with a movable 
height had been made and fixed in the schoolroom.  Lena
(4;2) today asked Miss C. to "make it work".  Miss C. 
said, "How?"  Lena pushed it and watched it swing for a 
few seconds, and then said, "Make it go quicker".  Miss C. 
asked, "How can we make it go quicker?"  She replied, 
"Push that thing up" (pointing to the weight).  The screw 
was too tight for Lena to unfasten, but when Miss C. had 
loosened it, Lena pushed it up about half-way and fastened 
it again, and said, "Now it's going quicker".  (She and 
the other children have often been observed playing with 
it, but no comments had been made; this was an entirely 
spontaneous formulation of experience.) 
   When using the gramophone, Lena had pushed up the 
closing clasp of the case, and Phineas (4;0) said, "It should 
be up -- you have to push it down for the big ones" -- this 
was correct; it could remain up for the smaller records, but 
had to be down to make room for the larger. 
   4.3.27.  Dan (5;9) was sitting on his tricycle in the garden, 
backpedalling.  Mrs. I. said to him, "You're not going for- 
ward, are you?"  "No, of course not, when I'm turning 
them the wrong way."  She asked, "How does it go forward 
when it does?  What makes it?"  He replied, in a tone 
of great scorn for her ignorance, "Well, of course, your feet 
push the pedals round, and the pedals make that thing go 
round (pointing to the hub of the cranks), and that makes 
the chain go round, and the chain makes that go round 
(pointing to the hub of the wheel), and the wheels go round, 
and there you are!" 
   28.4.27.  Phineas (4;2) and Herbert (4;1) found some logs 
in the grass and wanted to take one to the bonfire.  The one 
Phineas chose was so long that he could not deal with it 
properly.  He said, "We could saw it", and Herbert said 
eagerly, "Oh, yes" and brought the saw. 
   27.5.27.  The tap in the sandpit had a removable handle, 
and yesterday the children lost this, so that they couldn't 
turn the tap on.  After looking for it, they began to suggest 
other ways of turning the tap.  They made several attempts 
with pincers, but could not do it.  Lena (4;2) suggested a 
spanner, "a driver" as she called it.  She and Jessica (;7) 
and Phineas (4;3) made long attempts with this.  Jane (11;0) 
then did it for them.  After this, Herbert (4;2) and Alfred 
(5;5) spent a long time thing to turn it on and off; Alfred 
in the end succeeded. 

II.  INCREASE OF KNOWLEDGE: PROBLEMS AND 

    EXPERIMENT, OBSERVATION AND DISCOVERY 

   16.10.24.  George (4;1) had a yellow purse.  He put his 
finger into it, and said, "It's like a glove".  Then he said, 
"It's yellow-are gloves always yellow?"  Mrs. I. showed 
him her own, which were brown.  
   12.11.24.  Some modelling wax having been dropped on 
a hot-water pipe, the children discovered that it melted, and 
tried some more.  When they found that all the wax would 
melt, whatever colour it was, they went on to try other 
material -- plasticine, wood, chalk, and so on, talking about
it together and telling Mrs. I., "Plasticine melts.  Wood 
won't melt", and so on.  The whole of this was entirely 
spontaneous.  (Ages 4;0 to 5;0).  
   21.11.24.  Frank (5;0) saw Mrs. I. opening the skylight 
window, and came to watch how it was done.  He then asked 
if he could do it, and spent some time practising the way the 
two ropes had to be held for opening and shutting it, one left 
loose and the other pulled.  The others all joined in this later 
on, with great interest.  
   28.11.24.  In the garden Frank (5;0) recognised from the 
outside the skylight which he had enjoyed opening from 
the inside several times.  He looked very pleased when he 
recognised it.  
   12.1.25.  There was much excited interest in the bubbling 
sounds made by the hot-water pipes this morning.  The 
children kept running to listen to them, and wanted to climb 
up so as to see into the cistern.  
   6.3.25.  A piece of plasticine had rolled underneath the 
piano, and this led Harold (5;2) and Frank (5;4) to put 
more there, saying, "Perhaps it will make the piano play 
differently".  They were reluctant to take it out again.  
Tommy (3;0) overheard this, and put some inside the piano, 
telling Mrs. I. gleefully, "I put plasticine down the piano, 
and it does not play the same now". 
   16.3.25.  The children were making sails for their boats, 
and fastening them on with string.  Theobald (5;0) was much 
poorer both in planning and in constructing than the others 
were.  He had to draw a sail before he could cut it, and at 
first made very small ones.  He was very dissatisfied with 
his work when finished, and asked Mrs. I. to help him.  She 
took a rectangular piece of paper and cut diagonally across 
it, showing him how she did it.  He was most interested in 
this, and in the middle of tying on the sails, he returned to it. 
and said, "How do you put the triangular pieces of paper 
to make them square?"  Mrs. I. suggested that he should 
try to do it, and he experimented with them, but unsuccess- 
fully.  He walked round them to get different views, asking, 
"How do you look at them to see them square?"  He was 
not satisfied until Mrs. I. showed him how to put them 
together in a square.  
   16.3.25.  Paul found a wet box of matches with one live 
match in it, in the garden.  Harold (5;2) tried to strike the 
match, but it would not ignite.  He said, "The box is too 
soft".  
   23.3.25.  The children found ice in the wheelbarrow, and 
took it out, breaking it with a stone.  Dan (3;10) was holding 
two pieces in his hand, and they froze together.  "Look, 
they are stuck", he said.  
   21.4.25.  The carpenter came to fasten up some trellis 
work, and Frank (5;6), when watching him said, "Oh, he's 
cutting off a triangular piece of wood" -- in a tone of great 
interest.  There had been another carpenter in the school last 
term, and Dan (3;11) said, "It's a different carpenter man". 
Frank asked Mrs. I., "Did you want another one for a 
change?"  and Dan: "Do they live together?" 
   1.5.25.  Harold (5;4) noticed the washer on the tap to-day, 
asked what it was, and said, "You have that on hot-water 
bottles too". 
   4.5.25.  There was some new plasticine, of different colours.  
Theobald mixed white and yellow together "to see what the 
colour will be" and Frank (5;6) said, "Perhaps if we 
mix white and brown together, it will be blue". 
   11.5.25.  Harold (5;5) and Frank (5;6) discovered that the 
charred sticks left in the bonfire could be used to draw with, 
and to make their hands black so as to be "clowns". 
   16.6.25.  The weather was extremely hot, and the children 
had a piece of ice to play with.  They broke it up with the 
hammer, and each had some pieces.  They put some into 
water, and said, "Oh, that makes it a lot colder than the 
water out of the tap".  One or two of them said, "We're 
going to keep ours till this afternoon", but presently they 
saw it melting rapidly and said, "Oh, there won't be any 
this afternoon". 
   18.6.25.  Frank (5;8) and Dan (4;1) were very interested in 
the chicken's drinking fountain, and the way the air bubbled 
up to the top when it was inverted.  
   19.6.25.  Frank (5;8) saw a stick floating on the water in 
a bowl, and put other things in to see if they would float -- a 
penny, scissors, a piece of plasticine, a shell, a piece of chalk. 
paper, a pencil, a tin lid, etc.  He said, "All the things made 
of wood will float", and took the lot out into the garden to 
show the others.  They however were not interested at the 
time; but later on Duncan (7;0) put some paper on 
the water and said, "If it's crumpled up, it floats, but a flat 
piece sinks".
   One of the children was banging on the floor with a stick,
near the others, and remarked, "Oh, it makes you all blink 
your eyes".  They all then tried not to blink when the stick 
was banged down, and were very amused and interested.
   25.6.25.  When Mrs. I. was playing the piano, Frank (5;9),  
Dan (4;1) and Priscilla (5;10) came to look at the pedals,
and noticed their effect on the sound.  Mrs. I. opened the 
front of the piano so that they could see what happened inside 
when the pedals were pressed down.  They said, "Oh, that 
piece of flannel is pushed against the wires".  They decided 
that it was flannel by feeling it with their fingers.
   8.7.25.  Harold (5;6) told Mrs. I., "When I was at Hun-
stanton, I saw a train with the wheels going round and round 
and the engine puffing, but the train was not going".
   When filling a can to water his garden, Frank (5;9) spon-
taneously remarked that "the part (of the can) that's in 
the water looks smaller".  This led Theobald (5;4) to experiment 
with various things to see which would float; he found that 
if he put the can upside down on the water, it partly filled 
and righted itself and then sank.  And "the small motor-car 
won't float".  He was very eager about his discoveries, and 
kept calling Mrs. I. and the other children to see.
   9.7.25.  Priscilla's mother told Mrs. I. that when lying in 
bed in the morning, Priscilla (5;11) had remarked that "the 
window only looks as big as that " -- holding her fingers a 
certain distance apart and had gone on to make various 
experiments in perspective.
   21.10.25.  The lights in the schoolroom are on pulleys.  
and Frank (6;0) to-day pointed out "that white thing above 
the light" (the white china weight on the pulley), and asked,  
"What is it for?"  Mrs. I. pulled the light down until it 
was within his reach, and he moved it up and down with 
great interest, calling the others to "come and see".  The 
children then asked Mrs. I. to pull all the six lights down 
low, and they made "houses" under each of them.  They 
all felt the bulbs, "Feel how warm it is".
   23.10.25.  Priscilla and Dan found a small snail, and 
remarked on the shape of the shell.  With Mrs. I., they traced 
out the spiral shape.  She drew a spiral on the board for 
them; they also drew and modelled it.  Then Mrs. I. drew 
a large spiral on the floor, so that they could walk on the 
line, and they did so with great delight and interest, "going 
in and out", for half-an-hour.  On more than one occasion 
in later days, they spontaneously drew, or asked Mrs. I. to 
draw, a spiral for them "to walk on".
  27.11.25.  Tommy (3;8) was watching Christopher use the 
household scales, weighing peas and beans.  Tommy said, 
"When that one goes down, this one goes up, and when this 
goes down, that goes up". 
  It was a frosty morning, and Tommy had carried a small 
box of water out into the garden, saying he wanted "to 
make ice".  He kept going out at intervals to see whether 
the water had yet frozen.  
  One of the children had brought in a glass jar full of snow, 
and put it on the hot-water pipes "to melt it".  They kept 
going to look at it, and when it was melted said, "What a 
little bit of water it has made!" 
  30.11.25.  Frank (6;1) and Mrs. I. had put some beans 
and peas into water a few days earlier, and to-day he went 
to look at them, without any prompting, to see "what they're 
like now".  The others crowded round, and said, "Oh, 
they've bulged".  On Mrs. I.'s prompting, they tried to take 
the skins off, and saw how soft the peas were, and how they 
came into two halves when the skin was off.  
  Tommy (3;8) was using coloured chalk, and discovered 
that when he used yellow and blue on top of each other, 
"They make green".  He then asked, "What do red and 
blue make when they're mixed?"  Mrs. I., "Try, and 
you'll see".  Frank told him,  "Mauve". 
  8.12.25.  The children were using different colours of plas- 
ticine, and one of them asked what it would make if you 
mixed red and white?  Frank (6;1) said, "It would be 
yellow"; but Dan (4;6) said, "No, it would be pink". 
  It had been a severe frost for some days.  During the 
morning.  the children heard a loud noise in the lavatory 
cistern, due to its sudden filling on the thaw.  They ran to 
the cloakroom and said, "It's the unfreezing of the water" 
and watched the tap in the basin beginning slowly to trickle.  
They talked at length about the frost, frozen water, frozen 
and burst pipes, the gas not working, and so on.  
  Later, Dan (4;6) and Mrs. I. had a conversation about the 
frost, while he was modelling.  He looked into the garden, 
and spoke of how "it gets harder when it freezes -- then it 
gets soft, and then it gets hard again". 
  He had brought in a lump of snow, and put it on the table 
while he was modelling he kept remarking on its melting.  
and said, "It's getting smaller"; and noted the pool of 
water it made. 
   27.1.26.  A Bunsen burner had been fitted in the school- 
room, and the children experimented with it a good deal 
to-day.  They noticed the difference in the flame as they 
turned the nozzle round to control the supply of air.  Frank 
(6;3) blew down the pipe, "to feel the air come out". 
   A few days earlier there had been a long discussion as to 
"whether glass would melt".  One of the children had been 
told (elsewhere) that it would, and the others didn't believe 
it.  To-day Mrs. I. held a glass rod in the flame, and they 
watched it melt with great interest.  "Oh, it does melt!" 
   29.1.26.  Frank (6;3) and Christopher (5;4) used the 
Bunsen for some time, altering the flame constantly with the 
air supply.  Priscilla (6;5) joined them, and they held glass 
rods in the flame, watching them when they "went soft", 
and discovering accidentally that they could join two pieces 
together by fusion when soft. 
   1.2.26.  Frank, Dan and Priscilla again experimented with 
glass and the Bunsen.  They found they could divide a long 
rod by pulling it in two when soft in one place. 
   Phineas (2;11) was crying bitterly at being left by his 
mother, but he laughed with delight when he saw the flame 
of the Bunsen, and said, "I can see it burning.  Oh, it's 
out now". 
   The children found a small hole in the boards of the floor 
of the summerhouse, and poked it larger "to see what's 
underneath".  They then said, "We want to go into the 
cellar (under the schoolroom) to see what's under the summer- 
house floor".  Mrs. I. agreed that they should go, but just 
as they started, Dan (4;8) said, "But the cellar's under the 
schoolroom -- it can't be under the summerhouse!"  He was 
correct, as the cellar ended at the schoolroom wall, several 
yards from the summerhouse.  The other children said, "We 
want to go and see"; so they went to verify it. 
   5.3.26.  Dan (4;9) looked at a postcard of Fowey, showing 
steamers in the harbour.  He asked where they were going, 
and whether they hadto turn round, or can they go back- 
wards without turning round?"  Mrs. I. told him that many 
of them went to China to take clay there.  Presently, "Can 
you go all the way by boat to China?"  When Mrs. I. 
replied, "You can either go all the way by boat, or part 
of the way by boat and part by train", he asked, "How 
do you know -- have you been?" 
   Dan and Christopher (5;5) unscrewed the nuts from the 
legs of the tables, asking Mrs. I., "Will the tables fall to
pieces if we take the screws out?"  She said she did not 
know, and they went on unscrewing them with great eager- 
ness, but did not get them right off.  Later they screwed them 
tight again. 
   11.3.26.  Dan (4;9) dropped his favourite green cup on the 
stone floor of the cloakroom today, and it broke.  He said, 
"When I dropped it on the wooden floor in the schoolroom, 
it didn't break!" 
   16.4.26.  Priscilla (6;8) and Tommy (4;2) tried to burn frag- 
ments of wool and cotton in the Bunsen flame, holding these 
on the point of the scissors and saying that "wool doesn't 
burn so easily as cotton". 
   19.4.26.  A few days ago the children had gathered the 
blossom from the fruit trees.  In the interval someone had 
told Dan (4;11) that if he did this, "the apples won't grow". 
To-day he went to look at the apple trees "to see if the 
apples are there yet". 
   22.4.26.  Alfred (5;4) and Phineas watched the gold-fish 
swimming round in a large circular glass tank.  They noticed 
the different appearances of the fish as it swam round, and 
as the water was unusually low in the tank, they could look 
down on to the surface.  (Usually the children could only see 
through the side of the tank, as it stood on the bench.) Alfred 
thus caught a reduced reflection of the fish on the surface as 
well as the direct view of the fish itself.  After looking for 
some time, he said, "There are two fishes in the tank, a 
little one and a big one". 
   27.4.26.  Dan (4;11) noticed that there were "holes" in 
the platform in the schoolroom -- i.e., the divisions between 
its three sections.  He pushed a screw-driver in, and noticed 
that he could move the sections sideways a little.  He called 
the others to look, and said, "Why, we could lift it up!" 
He begged everyone to help him lift; Miss B., Mrs. I. and 
all the children joined in, and they were able to raise one 
section a little.  As Mrs. I. was afraid it might slip and hurt 
their fingers, she soon said "that's all we can do to-day". 
   As the children had been very interested in the pulleys 
fixed in the ceiling for the lights, but found they could not 
see them properly as they were too high, Mrs. I. had obtained 
some small pulleys, and with the help of the children, fixed 
them up at accessible heights.  To-day and for some time, 
they all used them to pull detachable weights and pails full 
of things, up and down, with great interest.  Phineas (3;2) 
was delighted when he found out how to slip the cord on 
again when it came off the wheel.  Phineas, Jessica, Tommy 
Herbert and Alfred together spent an hour and a half using 
the pulleys. 
   7.5.26.  Mrs. I. was singing to the children, "One man 
went to mow".  After she had sung up to "ten men", 
they asked her, "Will you start at 1,025?"  She laughed 
and said, "That would take me a very long time -- all the 
rest of the day!"  She added that if she sang so long, "my 
voice would be so tired I shouldn't be able to speak!"  They 
replied, "Go on, do it, and we'll then see if you can speak 
or not". 
   11.6.26.  When the thunderstorm was over the children 
ran out to play in the puddles, Phineas (3;4) being vastly
delighted with this, making channels for the water and saying; 
"It's running away, it's running away".
   15.6.26.  When the children were all sewing with some 
cotton material, Dan (5;1) asked, "But how is stuff made?
You can't sew without stuff to sew with -- how's the stuff 
made?"  The next morning Mrs. I. made some simple card- 
board looms, and began to "make stuff" by weaving with 
coarse coloured wools.  At once the children came round 
her -- " What are you doing?"  and when they saw what 
she was doing, they all eagerly began to weave.  From this 
point, "making stuff" became one of their regular handi- 
crafts.  When, one day later, several children were sitting in 
the summerhouse quietly weaving, they spoke of the size of 
the pieces of stuff they were making.  "You'd have to have 
a much bigger piece of stuff" to make a dress or a curtain. 
They asked where the bigger pieces were made.  Mrs. I. 
replied, "In the factories, with big machines".  Christopher 
(5;9) said, "In the factories, they'd go racing ever so fast 
by electricity".  They then asked, "How big are the pieces 
made in the factory?  As big as that wall?"  (the wall of 
the summerhouse). 
   17.6.26.  Christopher (5;9) wanted to melt a piece of glass 
in the Bunsen.  He said he did not like the noise of the hot 
flame, and adjusted the air supply until he got the luminous 
flame.  He was interested to find that he couldn't get the 
glass soft in that flame, and had to go back to the blue one. 
   21.6.26.  The children have been using the flat wooden 
beds as sliding boards, by balancing them over the edge of 
the large table.  To-day they noticed that when the boards 
were arranged at a certain steepness, with the upper edge well 
over the edge of the table, and they sat on this upper part, 
the lower edge was raised from the floor as they put it, "we 
can balance on it".  They experimented to find how much 
had to lie over the table before they could do this. 
   22.6.26.  The children having long been very interested in 
the problems of the water supply to-day Mrs. I. gave them 
a glass U tube.  Dan on seeing it said, "That's a U".  They 
poured water into one arm with a funnel.  They remarked at 
once that the water came up into the other arm of the tube, and 
they took turns at pouring the water in and out, with delighted 
interest.  They told Mrs. I to write down (in the Writing- 
down Book), "We found a U that is a bottle, and if you 
put water down into it, it goes up the other side of the U. 
The water weighs up and down when you've done it" (Dan, 
5;1); "like a scale" (Christopher, 5;9). 
   When presently they had the sliding boards again, they 
found that if they placed the boards rather steeply, and sat 
at the top, "we dropped down without pushing ourselves 
down". 
   1.7.26.  The children had to wait twenty minutes for some- 
thing, and asked, "Will it be long?"  Mrs. I. replied, "It 
will be twenty minutes.  I don't know how long that will 
seem to you".  Dan said, "Will you show us on the 
clock?"  Mrs. I. did so.  He then said, "How many is 
twenty?  Will you count?"  She counted from one to 
twenty.  This was done once or twice.  Christopher (5;9) 
said, "What is counting?  That's not twenty minutes". 
Mrs. I. replied, "Oh, no, I counted faster than the minutes 
go".  They then said, "Will you show us how long one 
minute is".  They sat still for one minute. 
   2.7.26.  The children were all gathered round the gramo- 
phone when a piano record was being played.  They spoke 
of it as "piano-music", and asked, "Where is the piano 
and the man playing it?" 
   5.7.26.  The children, in using the see-saw, have noticed 
the difference in apparent weight when a person moves from 
an end towards the middle, or the reverse, and adjust each 
other's positions to balance it. 
   7.7.26.  A little time ago, Dan had brought to school a 
pencil with a very small compass on the end of it.  He had 
asked various questions about it, and Christopher (5;10) had
told him, "That's a compass, the needle points to the 
north"; Dan had asked, "What's the north?"  but the 
compass was too small for him to be able to observe it satis- 
factorily, and too difficult to keep steady.  Yesterday, Mrs. I. 
took them a large wooden dial, with a vertical stick in the 
centre, and fixed in the middle of the lawn.  To-day they 
looked at it again, and noticed that "the shadow of the stick 
points to the summerhouse". 
   8.7.26.  The children looked at the dial again, and noticed
at once that "the shadow points the same way as yesterday. 
Does it always?"  Mrs. I. replied, "Well, if we look at 
it now and then, we shall find out".  Christopher asked 
(5;10), "Why does it point the same way as yesterday?" 
He put a pencil mark where it was pointing, and kept 
returning to it throughout the morning, leaving his other 
occupations for this.  He put a mark each time, and all the 
children remarked that "the shadow has moved".  They 
returned to it in the afternoon when it had moved through a
quarter of the circle, and again remarked on it.  Priscilla and 
Christopher knew the terms North, South, East and West, 
and said, "It pointed first to the north-west, and now it's to 
the north-east". 
   14.7.26.  The weather was extremely hot and dry, and 
today the children had a hosepipe in the garden.  Dan (5;2) 
and Christopher (5;10) spent a long time making various 
experiments with the stream of water.  They found that they 
could make the see-saw swing up and down by directing the 
water against one end or the other, and washed out a hole in 
the gravel path with the water. 
   19.7.26.  The children had a bonfire of rubbish in the 
garden, and they remarked on the volume of smoke coming 
from it, and called themselves "brave" when they ran 
through it.  Dan (5;2) said, "It makes me choke when it 
goes down inside".  He asked, "Is there any soot in the 
smoke?"  Mrs. I. replied, "Let's hold something in it and 
see".  They held a white plate in the smoke; a thin brown 
film was deposited, and the children said, "Yes, there is 
soot in it".  Mrs. I. then took a candle, lit it, and held the 
plate in the smoke from it.  The children said, on seeing the 
heavier deposit of soot, "There's much more soot in that". 
Dan said, "You've burnt the plate". Mrs. I. washed the 
plate, and he saw that the soot came off and that the plate 
itself was not burnt. 
   7.10.26.  Tommy (4;7) experimented with the way that a 
number of draughts would roll when they were stood on edge 
in a row, and started to roll by a push with a pencil. 
   18.10.26.  Dan (5;5) and Priscilla (7;2) told Mrs. I., "We 
can weigh each other on the seesaw now".  (Mrs. I. had 
arranged weights which could be hung on a series of hooks 
underneath the seesaw.) 
   1.11.26.  A large trestle table was brought to school. 
Mrs. I. put it up to see how high it was, and found that it 
was so high that the younger children's heads did not reach 
the top.  They all agreed that they would have to "make it 
lower".  Mrs. I. asked, "How can we do that?" and Dan 
(5;5) at once said, "If we make that longer (i.e. the webbing 
stretched between the trestle legs), the table will be lower". 
   4.11.26.  Phineas (3;9) and Lena (3;10) spent ten minutes 
or so experimenting with the steam coming out of the mouth 
of the kettle.  They put their hands into it cautiously, saying, 
"It's hot near the spout". 
   15.11.26.  The elder children were boiling some water in 
a flask, and Dan removed the wire gauze from the tripod, so 
that a fierce flame came directly on to the flask.  Soon the 
flask broke and the water splashed out.  Mrs. I. said, "I 
wonder how that happened?"  Jane (10;5) said, "Perhaps 
it was because we had taken the gauze away".  Dan (5;6) 
added, "Yes, we had put too much heat on too quickly, and 
if the gauze had been there, or if we'd turned the gas tap on 
very slowly, probably it wouldn't have cracked".  And 
added, "We found that out". 
   16.11.26.  Jane (10;5) put a bulb of mercury into a flask 
of water which she was heating, and watched the mercury 
rise.  She presently said, "Let's boil it longer this time, and 
then it will come right up" -- not having yet discovered that 
boiling water maintains a constant temperature.  She agreed 
with Mrs. I. to go on boiling and watch, and marked the 
highest point reached by means of a piece of stamp-paper 
(Mrs. I.'s suggestion).  They then boiled water in a closed 
vessel with a connecting tube to another flask, and she saw the 
steam passing through and condensing in the second vessel. 
She was very thrilled and called Dan, "Oh, do come and 
look". 
   17.11.26.  When washing, Dan (5;6) said, "It's a queer 
thing, pumice stone's very hard, but it doesn't hurt you when 
you rub". 
   19.11.26.  A parcel containing the parts of a wooden 
spinning wheel arrived; the children unpacked it, and then 
set the wheel up, finding out the position of the various parts 
partly by trial and error, and partly by a picture and diagram. 
A bonfire was made to burn up the packing of the parcel, and 
Phineas (3;9) said, "Burn that", pointing to a piece of 
metal wire.  Mrs. I. said, "Will you try?"  He threw it 
in, watched it closely, and said, "No, it won't burn". 
   23.11.26.  The R33 airship passed over, to the children's 
vast delight.  After it had gone, there was some discussion 
as to "how high it was".  Dan (5;6) said, "Perhaps it 
was a hundred inches -- perhaps more".  Mrs. I. suggested 
that they measured the length of the see-saw plank, which 
they did, and found that it was a hundred and forty-four 
inches.  They then raised it up on end so that it stood 
vertically.  Dan said, "Oh, it was much higher than that -- 
more than twice as high, perhaps four times as high; it was 
higher than the house"; and then looking up at a tall 
Lombardy poplar tree, "Perhaps it was twice as high as 
that".  Later on, he and the others climbed up a ladder 
to the level of the roof, "to see how much we can see when 
we look down on the top of things".  Dan said, "Oh, if 
only I could climb to the very top of the house, I should be 
able to see all over the world".  Mrs. I. asked him whether 
he had ever been to the top of the Monument in London. 
"No -- how do you get up?" 
   2.12.26.  Phineas (3;9) wanted to knock a nail into the 
metal handle of the door.  When he found that he couldn't 
do it, he asked Mrs. I. to help, and she showed him that she 
couldn't do so either.  He then said, "Perhaps it's made of 
stone!" 
   6.12.26.  The elder children having discovered that a given 
weight was apparently heavier when it was near the end 
of the see-saw than when placed near the middle, to-day they 
played with a small balance of the see-saw type, with movable 
pans underneath.  They made plasticine figures of men to 
put in the pans, getting them to balance in different positions 
on the long arm by adjusting the amount of plasticine. 
   19.1.27.  Phineas (3;11) showed his handkerchief with pride 
and interest, saying, "I've got a handkerchief.  It's got 
mauve on it.  Do blue and red make mauve?"   Mrs. I. 
suggested that he should take some paint and try.  He did, 
and was pleased when he found that he could make mauve. 
   Jane (10;8) told Miss D., "There isn't much time to play. 
It's really all making things and finding things out".  "But 
don't you like making things?"  "I can't think of enough 
things to do.  But it will be all right now we have a lathe.  I 
like finding things out best.  I shall do finding out most of the 
time". 
   After lunch Jessica (4;3) began unscrewing the handle of 
the vice on the carpenter's bench.  Phineas (3;11) took the 
second handle, and they took the vice right off twice and 
screwed it on again.  After about two turns, Phineas went 
round to the other side of the bench to see how much further 
in or out the screw was.  Every time, he called to Miss C., 
"Come and see how far it is now", and was not satisfied 
until she had looked.  He did this perhaps forty times, and 
said exactly the same phrase every time, and showed the same 
pleasure and triumph in his achievement. 
   20.1.27.  A large parcel of new tools arrived, and Jane 
(10;8) and Priscilla (7;5) helped Mrs. I. unpack it and check
the list.  There was a drilling machine and they set it up and 
began to use it.  Jane very quickly saw the half-dozen adjust- 
ments which had to be made.  They spent half the day drilling 
holes of various sizes in pieces of wood, and learning to adjust 
the machine each time, by discovery. 
   24.1.27.  Jane (10;8) saw Mrs. I. hold a piece of glass 
tubing in the Bunsen flame.  She called out, "Oh, it will 
break".  When it did not, she said, "Oh, it must be a 
special kind of glass if it doesn't break";  and then she saw 
it begin to melt and bend.  This was new to her, and she 
followed it up, Priscilla taking part in this too.  They made 
different shapes of glass tubing, and Jane discovered that one 
part of the flame was hotter than another -- "the glass takes 
much longer to bend if we hold it here". 
   25.1.27.  Priscilla (7;5) and Dan (5;8) experimented with 
the U tubes and water.  They asked Mrs. I. to put down in 
the Writing-down Book, "We've found out that if you keep 
your finger in one end of the tube, you can't pour water down 
into the other". 
   27.1.27.  Miss C. was mixing some starch paste, and 
Phineas (3;11) said he wanted to do some.  He watched 
Miss C. do hers, then asked for a pot the same size, and an 
equal amount of starch.  He mixed it first with a little cold 
water, as Miss C. did, then asked her to pour in the boiling 
water; but finding the steam hot, he would also put in 
cold water.  When the jar was full he was very disappointed 
that it had not turned blue as Miss C.'s had done.  "Why 
didn't it turn blue?"  Miss C. told him that it was probably 
because he had put in too much cold water, and asked whether 
he would like to heat it on the gas-cooker. He said, "Yes" 
eagerly; but when it was put on the gas, he was so interested 
in the gas jets that he forgot about the paste.  He asked 
perfunctorily, "Has it turned blue?"  but didn't really look 
at it.  He asked Miss C. to light and turn out and re-light 
all the different jets several times over. 
   Whenever there is a bonfire, Phineas remarks, "It hasn't 
gone out when it's smoking, has it?"  (Sometimes the children 
have said, "It's out", when it has been only smouldering, 
and has flamed up again.) 
31.1.27.  Phineas (3;11) wanted to make paste again. 
They again had to heat it.  As Miss C. lit the front burner, 
only one row of holes were ignited.  She blew it, and the first 
flame set alight the second row of holes.  Phineas was very 
pleased to see this.  "Why did it light by itself?"  he asked; 
so they turned it out, and re-lit the first burner.  Then he asked 
Miss C. to turn on the second burner, which lit from the first.
He asked again, "Why did it light by itself?"  Then he 
asked for the third and fourth to be lit. 
   1.2.27.  There was occasion to use the gas-cooker again 
this time, Phineas (3;11) asked, before anything was lit, 
"Let it light by itself".  Miss C. asked him, "Will it light 
by itself the first time?"  "No, put a match, but only light 
the first ones."  Miss C. turned on the first burner, and lit 
only the front row of holes; Phineas blew it to light the 
second row, and called out with glee, "It lighted by itself". 
Then they turned on the second burner, and afterwards the 
third and fourth.  The fourth one was further away, and he 
could not make it ignite so he asked Miss C., "You blow 
it".   The whole process was repeated from the beginning 
eight times.  A few days earlier, Phineas had been frightened 
when the flames popped as they went out.  To-day, he 
was merely interested, and listened for the "pop".  After 
the eighth time, he was ready to get down and do something 
else.  As he was getting down, he saw a hole in the wall, and 
asked, "Where does it go?"  Miss C. said, "I don't 
know; but it might once have had a pipe going through it". 
He looked about to see if there were any pipes, and saw the 
hot-water pipes.  He said, "Here are the pipes.  Where do 
they go?"  Miss C., "Probably to the basement where the 
furnace is".  "Let's go and see--I want to go and see."
They went down into the basement.  There were two furnaces, 
one for the central heating and one for the bathroom.  After 
looking at them for some time, and tracing the pipes, he 
said, "Can we go and see the bathroom?"  They went to 
the bathroom, and traced the hot-water pipes back to the 
schoolroom. 
   2.2.27.  The children had an old discarded gas-fire to play 
with, and Phineas (3;11) wanted to "light" it. There was 
a small length of pipe attached, and two taps.  Phineas 
showed Miss C. where he wanted her to apply the match, 
and turned the taps himself.  He tried all the holes in front 
in turn, and the place for the kettle at the top; and all several 
times over.  Then he said, "Try the next side", and they 
applied the match at the back, to every hole they could find. 
Then he asked Miss C., "Why won't it burn?"  "Because 
there's no gas in the pipes", she said.  "Why isn't there any 
gas?"  Then he thought that if he could make the pipe 
reach as far as the wall, there would be gas and he could 
light it.  He found an extra piece of piping and fixed it on 
to that attached to the stove, but it would not quite reach 
to the wall.  He asked Miss C., "Will you make some gas 
and put it in the pipes?"  She told him she could not.  He 
spent three-quarters of an hour in complete absorption in this 
problem of getting the stove to light. 
   4.2.27.  When Phineas (3;11) had eaten his orange, he 
went to wash his plate, and asked for something else to wash. 
He was given a mug to wash, and spent twenty minutes 
slowly pushing the mop in and out of the mug, watching the 
water come up round it, and saying, "Look at the bubbles". 
The mop fitted fairly tightly, and he experimented with the 
suction as he pulled it, and noticed the way the water came 
up round it as he pushed it in. 
   8.2.27.  Phineas (3;11) saw Lena put some sand into a 
bucket that already had a little water at the bottom.  Lena 
filled it up with sand, and then turned it out as a "pie". 
When she turned it out, Phineas said, "Where's the water 
now?  It's all sand!"
   10.2.27.  Phineas (4;0) used a bicycle pump for some time, 
being specially interested in the noise of a little air that escaped 
round the valve.  Later, when playing in the sand-pit, he 
went to the corner of the summerhouse and asked, "When 
does the water pour down here?"  Miss C. replied, "When 
does it?"  Phineas:  "When it rains".  Then -- " When 
does it rain?" 
   17.2.27.  All the children were making channels and 
tunnels and bridges in the sand-pit.  Jessica (4;3) dug a little 
hole by the side of the path, and poured water into it.  She 
was delighted to find how much longer the water stayed in 
this hole than in the sand-pit, and went back many times to 
see if it was still there; the following morning she went to 
look at it as soon as she arrived.  The water had gone; she 
said, "I thought it would". 
   Phineas (4;0) spent almost the whole morning with the 
burner.  He gave it the most absorbed and concentrated 
attention, and showed much ingenuity and invention in 
thinking of fresh things to do with it, and the greatest delight 
and excitement over the different happenings.  When the 
burner was first put on, it would not light.  On an earlier 
occasion, some melted lead had fallen down the pipe and 
blocked it.  In order to make it burn, Miss C. unscrewed 
the pipe and cleaned out the hole with a pin.  When it was 
burning normally, Phineas presently asked Miss C. to take 
off the vertical tube again, and had it lit without this then 
put the tube on again, but lit the flame at the bottom. 
Then he managed to get a flame both at the top and the 
bottom by placing spent matches through the air hole horizon- 
tally.  Then he turned the gas out, and filled the vertical tube
with burnt matches; and re-lit it.  He found this gave a 
different kind of flame, and watched all the different colours 
with great delight.  Later on when he had matches in the 
tube, he lit the burner at the bottom only, and this made the 
matches smoulder.  After doing this several times, he asked, 
"Why does it smoke?"  Miss C. said, "Why?"  He 
replied, "Because there are matches".  At a later point 
when he had taken the matches out, and thought he had quite 
emptied the tube, he had left one inside unintentionally.  The 
tube smoked, and he asked, "Why is it smoking?"  Miss C. 
returned the question, and he replied, "There must be a 
match inside".  Miss C. said,  "Shall we see if there is?" 
He turned the gas off, and turned the burner upside down, 
and laughed with pleasure when the match fell out.  Several 
times the burner became choked, and he asked Miss C. to 
take off the tube, and found a discarded gramophone needle 
for her to prick out the hole.  The supply of gas was controlled 
by a detachable master key, as well as by an ordinary tap 
near the burner.  Phineas had seen this master key (kept in 
Mrs. I.'s charge) used at the beginning of the experiment. 
Later in the morning, he wanted Miss C. to go and get more 
matches, and as he had not turned off his tap, she shut off 
the gas with the control key.  When later he wanted still 
another box, he said to Miss C., "We needn't turn that off 
(pointing to the ordinary tap), because that's off" (pointing 
to the control tap). 
   Once when Phineas blew the light out, he said, "It's dead 
now". 
   21.2.27. Phineas (4;0) asked for the burner again.  He 
turned the near tap and tried to light it, but it did not ignite. 
He looked puzzled for several seconds, then said, "Oh, will 
you bring the other one?" (the control key), and ran to 
Mrs. I. for it.  He again spent the morning with various 
experiments, sometimes lighting it at the top, sometimes at 
the bottom.  Presently he wanted something else to burn,
and put a stick in the flame; but Miss C. asked him to burn 
sticks on the bonfire, not in the schoolroom.  He said, "What 
else can we burn?" 
   Lena was eating an apple, and suggested cooking this. 
They put the apple, and a brown paper bag, in water in a 
saucepan, on a tripod over the Bunsen.  Presently they added 
some raffia, and they put so much in that it hung over the 
sides.  Phineas asked Miss C. to light the burner, but she 
said, "Not while the raffia is hanging over the edge".  They 
spent a long time trying to gather in the raffia, and Phineas 
almost despaired of getting it all in, and said, "Oh, do help,
it will take hours and hours!"  With a little help it was 
pushed in and the flame lit.  They saw that the raffia stained
the water. 
   22.2.27.  Phineas (4;0) again asked for the burner, and 
held some crystals of coloured bath salts (which one of the 
other children had made and brought to school) in the flame. 
"It all goes white, doesn't it?"  he said.  Miss C., "What 
makes it go white?"  "The flame."  He repeated several 
times in his characteristic way, "It all goes white, doesn't 
it?"  To light the burner, he asked for the control key 
and himself fitted it and turned it on.  The small tap had been 
left on, and Phineas said at once, "It's on -- I can hear it". 
He lifted the saucepan with raffia and water in it on to 
the tripod; presently he wanted to move the tripod, and 
evidently thinking it would be hot, he managed to push it 
aside quite cleverly with a matchbox, without touching it 
himself.  The burner was partly choked with the crystals 
burnt the day before, and the flame was very small.  Phineas 
said, "You can make it go big".  Miss C., "How?" 
"Blow it."  They both blew it, and the flame went out. 
Phineas lit it again.  "Now make it go big", he said. 
"How?"  "Perhaps there's not much of a hole", he 
volunteered.  He turned out the flame.  Miss C. asked, 
"What shall we do?"  He gave her a gramophone needle 
to clean it out with. 
   24.2.27.  Phineas (4;0) on arrival wanted to cook, and put 
some water into a small kettle and took it to the burner.  The 
saucer containing some of the bath crystals which he had 
used a few days earlier was there, and he played the flame 
of the burner directly on to them.  When they melted he 
said, "Look, it's all juice -- isn't it nice?"  The burner was 
pay choked, and he cleaned it out with a pin.  He left the 
pin in the hole when he lit it, and the flame spread out fanwise. 
He was delighted with this, and later put two pins in.  Only 
the points would go in, and the length of the pins standing 
up could be seen to get red hot, and to bend over.  Then he 
turned out the flame, and asked Miss C. to fix in three pins, 
and again watched the result of heating them in the flame. 
Later he heated the raffia in the saucepan again, and held a 
teaspoonful of water in the flame, watching the bubbles of 
steam.  When the spoon got too hot to hold, he got another. 
Then he held the flame of the Bunsen near the water, and 
presently put it right in.  When it went out, he asked, "Why 
did it go out?"  Miss C.:  "Why?"  Phineas:  "Because 
of the water".   When he was intending to relight the burner 
while holding it near the water, the gas ignited after it had
passed through the water, several inches away.  He was 
excited at this, and asked, "Is the water burning?"  Miss C. 
asked, "Does water burn?"   "No", he said, but asked 
the same question in a puzzled way several times. Miss C. 
asked him, "What is bag?"  He replied, "The air". 
She said, "Is it air coming from the pipe?"  At this 
moment, Conrad came up and said, "No, it's gas".  Later 
Phineas tried to reproduce this distant flame, and after a time 
succeeded again; but as there was some raffia in the water, 
he was not sure whether it was not the raffia burning. 
   25.2.27.  Phineas (4;0) held some wet raffia in the fire, and 
asked, "Why won't it burn?"  Miss C. -- "Why won't 
it?"  Phineas -- "Because it's wet".  He held it against 
the flame for some time, and when it began to burn, 
he said, "It's burning now".  Miss C. -- "Why is it burning 
now?"  "Because it's dry."  "What made it dry?" 
Phineas -- "The flame". 
   There was an old match-box which had been left in the 
water; it had come unstuck, and Phineas said, "It's come 
undone, because of the water". He held it in the flame until 
it dried and burnt, and was puzzled when he saw that the 
part for striking matches on burnt with a differently coloured 
flame from the rest.  He put the box of matches which was 
being used down on the shelf where some water had been 
spilled when he picked it up, he said, "It's wet".  Miss C. 
asked, "Will the matches strike if the box gets wet?"  He 
replied, "It's all right, it isn't wet on that part" (pointing to 
the side); but was careful not to put it down in the water 
again.  He pushed a match through the hole of the burner, 
and it made a noise remarkably like an aeroplane.  He 
seemed at first to think it was an aeroplane passing, and said, 
"Is it an aeroplane?"  When he listened carefully with 
Miss C., he found it came from the burner.  He several times 
asked the same question, and then said.  "It's an aeroplane, 
it's my aeroplane!  Isn't it a funny noise?" 
   Going to the cloakroom, he met Jane with a bottle of Jeyes' 
fluid and a pail of water.  Jane (10;9) said to Mrs. I., "Isn't 
it funny how it goes white when you put it in the water?" 
Phineas wanted to know what they were talking about, and 
Jane brought some fresh water for him to put in a few 
drops of Jeyes', and he watched it diffuse through the water 
and change colour.  He emptied this away, and got fresh 
water, and repeated it several times.  He saw that it looked 
"bluey", "greeney" and "browny", according to the 
amount of Jeyes' used, and said several times, "It looks like 
smoke".  He brought a stick to stir it with, and tried moving
the bucket gently to see what difference the movement made 
to the diffusion.  Then he asked, "Will it burn?"  and they 
carried it out to the bonfire to try.  While getting sticks for 
the bonfire, he accidentally knocked over the pail of Jeyes' 
and water, to his great chagrin.  He asked Miss C. to "pick 
it up again", and bringing a trowel tried to spoon it up 
himself. 
   1.3.27.  Phineas (4;0) noticed that the string was off the 
spinning wheel.  He said, "I'll put it on", and in turning 
it, got the string caught round the hub of the wheel so that 
presently it jammed.  Then he asked for another piece of 
string, and when he could not fasten it successfully round the 
wheel, tied it from the wheel to the leg of the piano, hoping 
that this would make the wheel turn; but could only turn it 
a little way.  He then unfastened the string from the piano, 
tied it round Miss C.'s legs and again to the piano, and asked 
her to "make it work". 
   He found some water and sand in an old barrow which he 
remembered had a small hole in it.  With a trowel he moved 
the sand about in the bottom until he found the hole; then 
some water began to drip through.  He said, "It's only 
dripping.  Why is it only dripping?"  and made the hole 
bigger with his trowel, until the water ran freely.  When he 
was gardening near the kitchen window, he heard some water 
running down the drain under the window, and went to watch 
it.  He traced the course of the pipe as far as he could.  Then 
he saw the maid turn on a tap in the kitchen, and heard the 
water again come down the pipe, and commented on the 
connection.  He then followed the second pipe up the scullery 
wall, and could see that there were taps inside there also.  He 
asked.  "Where does the water go after it goes in there" (the 
drain).  Later on, when digging in the sandpit, and pouring 
water into the ditches he made, he said, "It goes faster when 
it's (the channel) narrower!" 
   3.3.27.  Lena (4;2) was using the gramophone, and Phineas 
4;0) came and listened.  Lena said, "It's people singing". 
Phineas asked, "Where are the people?"  and tried to look 
into the gramophone box.  He asked again, "Where are 
the people?"  Miss C. asked Lena, "Are there any people 
there now?"  Lena:  "No".  Phineas "When were 
there any people?"  Miss C. told him that once when people 
were singing, the music was written down on the record, and 
the gramophone could play it now.  Then a concerto for two 
violins was put on, and Phineas again tried to look in the 
box.  He asked, "Are there any violins?"  Miss C. said, 
"Not now".  He listened; they both noticed that only one 
violin was playing; then the second joined in, "Now there's 
two", said Phineas.  "Now there's three." (`Cello obligato.) 
   10.3.27.  The children had a set of large wood blocks, per- 
forated right through in many places, with wooden sticks to 
fit, for constructing various things.  Most of them made carts, 
engines, motors, etc.  Phineas' (4;1) interest, however, 
seemed to be in observing the particular hole on the far side 
of a block out of which a rod would come when pushed in 
on the near side.  Some of the holes ran diagonally, so that 
it was not always quite obvious where the rod would come 
out.  He took a long,, steel rod, and spent some time pushing 
it through, saying beforehand where he thought it would come 
out, verifying his idea, and showing great pleasure when he 
was correct, 
   15.3.27.  Phineas (4;1) and Jessica (4;5) and Dan (5;10) 
had a long piece of rubber tubing on the tap of the sand-pit. 
It had been much used, and there was a weak place in the 
middle that swelled up if the tap was turned on full. They 
had discovered this yesterday, and Phineas put it on again, 
asking if there would "come that big thing in the middle". 
He found that it would only come when the tap was turned 
on full.  After they had watched it for some time, and it had 
swelled very large, it burst.  Dan said, "I thought it would ";
they all looked at the long split in the side with interest. 
   21.3.27.  Phineas (4;1) asked for some soda crystals.  He 
balanced them on top of the burner, then tried to light the 
burner at the top.  There was a small flame for a few seconds, 
but almost at once the crystals softened and filled up the tube 
so that the flame went out.  He then lit the gas at the bottom 
of the burner, and watched the crystals turn to "juice" 
and bubble over and run down the side of the tube.  He did 
this many times over.  He then took a piece of string, and 
held the end in the flame.  When he had held it in the flame 
for some time, it burnt through and the end fell away.  He 
asked, "Why is it running away?"  He asked Miss C. to 
tie the two ends together again, and when she replied, "Yes, 
soon, I'll let it get cool first", Priscilla suggested putting the 
string into water to cool it quickly.  There was a red spark 
at the end, and when he put it into the water he noticed the 
sizzling noise.  This pleased him, and several times he held 
the string again in the flame until it got hot and then put it 
into the water to hear the noise.  He was disappointed when 
it did not sizzle, but soon discovered that this depended on 
how long he had held it in the flame, and how hot it had 
got.  After a time he again asked Miss C. to tie the pieces 
together.  They made a knot together; he said, "The knot 
won't burn, will it?"  He arranged it so that the knot was 
in the flame, and seemed very surprised when he found it 
was burning.  Again it burnt through, and he asked, "Why 
is it broken?"; when Miss C. said, "Why?" he replied, 
"The flame broke it".  Then he and Lena wanted some- 
thing else to put in the flame, and took the metal rod he had 
been using with the blocks.  They said they wanted to leave 
it until it got very hot so that it would make "a terrible 
noise".  They asked Miss C. to call them when it was very 
hot, and ran into the garden.  When Miss C. called them they 
came at once, put it into water, listened to the noise, watched 
to see how long it lasted and then put the rod back into the 
flame.  This was done four times then they were ready to 
turn to other occupations. 
   26.4.27.  Alfred (5;4) Phineas (4;1) and Lena (4;4) had 
an empty mouse-cage with a wheel.  They put small pieces 
of chalk in the wheel and watched them as they turned the 
wheel.  They saw how the pieces of chalk stayed against the 
sides when the wheel was going fast, and how they only 
went part way up and then fell down, if the wheel was 
going slowly.  They watched for some time, talking about it 
together. 
   28.4.27.  Herbert (4;1), Alfred (5;4), Phineas (4;2) and 
Lena (4;4) took turns at sawing together with the two-handled 
saw.  The others seemed to find great pleasure in the rhythmic 
movement and practical result; Phineas chiefly in the nature 
of the process.  Every time he took the saw, he bent down 
to its level to watch the blade working, and see the sawdust 
and stood attentively watching when the others were using it. 
   3.5.27.  Today several of the children asked for the 
burner.  While waiting for Mrs. I. to turn the gas supply on, 
Tommy (5;3) and Herbert (4;1) stuffed plasticine into the 
mouth of the burner, saying they were "going to cook it". 
They tried to light the burner at the top, but could not. 
Phineas (4;2) said, "Light it down here", pointing to the 
base.  They did so, and the flames protruded all round the 
air-hole.  Phineas asked for a saucepan, and they put some 
water in it, with bath salts, soap flakes, and later orange-juice 
and an apple.  Joseph (4;0), Alfred (5;4) and Lena (4;4) 
joined the group watching the "cooking".  They remarked 
that the plasticine was "coming up" -- i.e., it became raised 
in a curve at the mouth of the burner as it expanded with 
heat.  Their interest to-day seemed to be much more in the 
pleasure of their own activities, stirring, pouring, etc., than 
in the results, the changes due to heat, etc. 
   26.5.27.  The morning was spent by the majority of the 
children in watching the lamps and other apparatus for the 
indoor film photograph.1 Phineas (4;3) and Penelope (5;8) 
discovered that the face of one of the lamps was convex.  
They discovered it by touch and described it to Mrs. I. in 
terms of touch, telling her to feel it also -- how it "came 
out" in the middle.  They followed the cables to the motor 
lorry outside which held the dynamos, and stood watching 
the latter for a long time. 
   October, 1927.  Denis (3;10) when having his bath, shut 
his eyes and asked Miss D. to tell him whether she could 
"still see things when I have my eyes shut -- are they still 
there?" 
 
            III.  SOCIAL INTERCHANGE OF KNOWLEDGE 
 
A.  REASONING;  "WHY'S", "BECAUSE'S" AND OTHER 
    LOGICAL INTERESTS 

   7.10.24.  Robert (4;6) was digging in the sand-pit, and 
asked, "What colour is the sand?"  Mrs. I. suggested, 
"Shall we call it yellow?  He replied, "What colour 
is it?"  "Is it yellow?"  Mrs. I. said in a tentative tone.  
He replied, "Well, it's brown". 
   31.10.24.  Harold was threatening Dan with a cane, and 
Mrs. I took the cane away.  Dan (3;5) protested, "But he 
will hit me with his hand!" 
   12.11.24.  While Mrs. I. was sitting near Benjie (4;1), 
helping him to put on his shoes, he said reflectively, "Why 
do we have to pick up things that we put on the floor?" 
Mrs. I. replied, "Well, if we left them on the floor, and 
were running and trod on them, we might break them, 
mightn't we?"  He said, "We shouldn't break those big 
bricks, should we?"  Mrs. I.:  "No, but perhaps we 
should hurt our feet on them"  This seemed to content him. 
   9.12.24.  At the end of the afternoon, Frank changed his 
jersey, shoes, etc., because he was going out to tea.  Dan 
(3;7) noticing this, said, "I'm having Mrs. I. to tea -- and 
that's why I have this jersey on". 
   13.2.25. Mrs. I. had drawn a chalk line across the floor 
for the children to walk on, which they enjoyed doing. 
Christopher (4;5) however, made it into a double line, 
"Because it will be better to walk on", he said.  

  1 We had a film of the school made by British Instructional Films, 
showing the children going about their ordinary activities during one 
week. 

   17.2.25.  One of the children stood on a chair, and said, 
"I'm taller than you" to the others.  They all of them 
then got on chairs, and Frank and Christopher both said 
they were taller than Dan.  Dan (3;9) then said to Frank, 
"Yes, we are taller than Christopher, aren't we?"  (Dan 
being much the smallest of the three.) 
   20.2.25.  Tommy (3;0) and George were together, and 
Tommy said to Mrs. I., "I called that boy Frank (pointing 
to George)--and he's not, is he, because he has a different 
face".  Then presently he said to George, "I'm a monkey. 
not Tommy". 
   12.3.25.  Paul (4;0) saw the new piece of American cloth 
which had been fastened on the back of the piano, in place 
of the old piece which had got torn last term.  He remarked, 
"That's why the blue one was torn". 
   24.3.25.  Harold (5;2) wanted a toy to run round the room 
with, "a real toy", not one he made himself.  He told 
Mrs. I., "I'm happier at home than at school".  Mrs. I. 
said, "Are you, Harold?  I wonder why?"  (knowing 
he had something definite in mind).  He replied, "Because 
there aren't any toys here that I can run round with".  
   21.4.25.  Mrs. I. and the children had lunch in the garden, 
but Dan (3;11) found the sunshine too strong -- "My eyes 
are too bright here", he said. 
   23.4.25.  A boy visitor had slipped backwards in the sand- 
pit and cut his head on the brick wall, making it bleed. 
Frank (5;6) watched Mrs. I. bathing the wound, and talked 
about it.  He said, "We are made of blood, aren't we?  So 
the blood comes out when we cut it". 
   30.4.25.  Dan gave Harold a motor-bus.  Harold (5;3) 
put it in the cloakroom and when his mother came, she had 
to deny him the pleasure of taking it home because she could 
not manage it as well as the two boys.  Harold was very 
angry at this and hit his mother several times and said hostile 
things.  She said she was very sorry, but she could not do it. 
She told Mrs. I. the next day how all the way home he kept 
hitting her and saying hostile things, and how a long time 
after he asked her, "Do you still love me?"  and when she 
said, "Yes", he said, "What, after all that?" 
   18.5.2.  Paul (4;2) brought Mrs. I. a gift -- a cardboard 
box containing boracic powder, which he said was for her 
"in case you have spots". 
   27.5.25.  Frank (5;7) dropped a pair of scissors from the 
gallery to the floor below.  He said, "They didn't break -- 
they're metal". 
   16.6.25.  There was some talk among the children about 
the effect of water on the bonfire.  Duncan (7;0) said, "If 
you put water on, it makes more blazes".  Mrs. I. said to 
him, "Let's do it and see".  He put some on, and saw 
that it put the flames out but he went on to say, "After 
it has dried, it makes more blazes--Auntie told me so.  She 
said that once she nearly had the house on fire because she 
tried to put it out with water".  (Phantasy or mis-hearing?) 
Mrs. I. suggested his trying further to see the effect, but he 
preferred to talk about it dogmatically. 
   24.11.25.  Christopher (5;1) said to Mrs. I. today, "When 
you explain a thing, you say it's like something else!" 
   The children were putting up a cocoanut for the tits, and 
Frank made some remark about its "eyes", the two round 
marks at one end.  Dan (4;6), on hearing this, asked, "Is 
it alive?" 
   8.3.26.  Tommy (4;1) gathered some moss in the garden 
and asked Mrs. I. to "cook" it.  They put it in a pan with 
some water, and he watched it getting hot.  He said, "We 
can't eat it.  Even if it were good to eat, we couldn't eat it, 
because it's dirty" 
   19.3.26.  Several of the children talked about "the war". 
Christopher (5;6) said, "My daddy fighted, but he wasn't 
hurt, because he's alive now". 
   4.5.26.  Florence was frightened when the children shouted 
to an aeroplane, "Come down, come down", and burst into 
tears.  The others were concerned about her crying, and 
asked the reason.  Tommy (4;2) said in a puzzled voice, 
"Teddy (the dog) hasn't got loose!" -- this having been the 
last cause of fear on his own part. 
   11.5.26.  When Mrs. I. and the children were sharpening 
pencils with a knife, Dan (4;11) said, "Why can't we sharpen 
them like they were when we first got them, all round and 
smooth?"  Then after a moment -- "I know, it's because 
they're not done with a knife, they're done with those things 
that you turn round!" 
   20.7.26.  The children were watching Penelope's baby
sister, and commented on her tiny fingers and toes and 
laughed at her crawling movements.  Several of them asked, 
"Can't she talk?  Why can't she talk?" 
20.10.26.  Tommy (4;8) stayed to tea, and when he was 
leaving Miss D. said to him, "Goodbye, Tommy, see you 
to-morrow!"  Tommy asked his father, "How does she 
know that I shall come to-morrow?" 
   24.10.26.  Jane and Dan came to tea with Mrs. I., walking 
across the fens.  Dan's mother came to take them home, and 
said to Dan on arriving, "You did find your way then?" 
Dan (5;5) replied with a smile, "Well, I shouldn't be here 
if I hadn't, should I?" 
   21.1.27.  There was a picture of a station on the wall, 
with a train crossing over a set of points, and signals, etc. 
Phineas (3;11) began to ask Mrs. I. questions about the 
picture.  "Why aren't there any coal trucks?  Why is it 
darker there for?  Why is it darker in there?  I saw a 
shadow.  There is a fire in there.  Why is there a fire in 
there?  And there are two men in there.  Why are the 
men there for?  Why couldn't you see it (the engine) going 
on the picture for?"  (He asked this exactly the same way 
three times repeated.)  "What are the railway lines for?  
What could the puffer do without railway lines?  Why aren't 
there no railway lines here?"  (pointing to the margin.) 
"Why couldn't you see the next side for?  Why are those 
funny signals for?  What is this round thing for?"  (point-
ing to the boiler.) "What are round boxes for?"  (Mrs. I. 
was called away then; but he went on talking to Priscilla.) 
"What is that man looking at, Priscilla?  What are the 
two colours for?" (pointing to the signal flags.) Then 
Priscilla went away, and he went to do something else. 
   24.1.27.  Phineas (3;11) was trying to cut some paper 
straight, with Miss C.'s help, and while he was doing this, 
with much effort, he said conversationally, "We were late 
this morning.  It's a penny morning.  It's Monday morning.  
It's a penny morning.  Monday morning.  Does that clock 
strike?"  Miss C.  said, "No".  "Why doesn't it strike?"  
   In the cloakroom, Lena said, "I've got new `indoors'". 
(i.e. shoes.) Phineas; "Why have you got new `indoors'?" 
Lena told him, "We went away to stay, and didn't take my 
`indoors' so we had to buy some new ones".  Phineas, 
"Why have you got new `indoors'?"  Lena:  "I told 
you why".  Phineas seemed satisfied with this reply. 
   Phineas overbalanced his chair, and it fell over.  He called 
out, "I don't like it.  It fell over.  Why did it fall over?  I 
don't like it".  He looked quite aggrieved.  
   27.1.27.  Phineas (3;11) was mixing starch, and put too 
much cold water into the jar.  When the jar was full he was 
very disappointed that it had not turned blue as Miss C.'s had 
done.  "Why didn't it turn blue?"  Miss C. told him that 
it was probably because he had put in too much cold water, 
and asked whether he would like to heat it on the gas cooker. 
He said, "Yes" eagerly; but when it was put on the gas, 
he was so interested in the gas jets that he forgot about the 
paste.  He asked perfunctorily, "Has it turned blue?"  but 
didn't really look at it. 
   2.2.27.  Phineas (3;11) was trying to "light" an old gas 
fire.  When he had applied a match to every hole he could 
find, he asked Miss C., "Why won't it burn?"  "Because 
there's no gas in the pipes", she said.  "Why isn't there 
any gas?"
   8.2.27.  Lena (4;2) said to Miss C. (who is tall), "Why 
are you tall?"  Miss C. said, "I don't know, I grew tall". 
She put her hand a little above Miss C.'s knee, and said, 
"You were once as little as that when you were little" 
and then putting her hand below the knee, asked, "Were 
you as little as that when you were little -- a little baby? 
"Stand up as high as you can.  You are tall!" 
   17.2.27.  Phineas (4;0) had filled the vertical tube of the 
Bunsen with dead matches, and re-lit the gas at the bottom 
only, which made the matches smoulder.  After doing this 
several times, he asked, "Why does it smoke?"  Miss C.  
replied, "Why?"  He said, "Because there are matches". 
Later on when he had taken the matches out, and thought 
he had quite emptied the tube, he had left one inside unin- 
tentionally.  The tube smoked, and he asked, "Why is it 
smoking?"  Miss C. returned the question, and he replied.  
"There must be a match inside".  Miss C. said, "Shall we 
see if there is?"  He turned the gas off, and turned the 
burner upside down, and laughed with pleasure when the 
match fell out.  
   24.2.27.  Phineas (4;0) held the flame of the Bunsen in 
some water, and then put it right in.  When the flame went 
out, he asked, "Why did it go out?"  Miss C. "Why?" 
Phineas -- "Because of the water". 
   25.2.27.  Phineas (4;0) held some wet raffia in the fire, and 
asked, "Why won't it burn?"  Miss C. -- "Why won't 
it?"  Phineas -- "Because it's wet".  He held it against 
the flame for some time, and when it began to burn, he said, 
"It's burning now".  Miss C. -- "Why is it burning now?" 
Phineas -- "Because it's dry".  "What made it dry?" 
"The flame", he replied.  
   1.3.27.  Phineas (4;0) found some water and sand in an 
old barrow which, he remembered, had a small hole in it.  
With a trowel he moved the sand about in the bottom until 
he found the hole; then some water began to drip through.  
He said, "It's only dripping.  Why is it only dripping?" 
and made the hole bigger until the water ran freely.  
   21.3.27.  Phineas (4;1) held the end of a piece of string in 
a flame.  After a time, it burnt through and the end fell away.  
He asked, "Why is it running away?" 
   After a time, he asked Miss C. to tie some pieces of string 
together.  He said, "The knot won't burn, will it?"  He 
arranged it so that the knot was in the flame, and seemed very 
surprised when he found it was burning.  Again it burnt 
through, and he asked, "Why is it broken?"  When 
Miss C. said, "Why?"  he replied, "The flame broke it". 
   22.3.27.  Phineas (4;1) spilt some water on the shelf in the 
cloakroom and it ran down between the shelf and the wall.  
He asked, "Why does the water come down there when it's 
stuck?"  (Obviously his puzzlement arose from the fact 
that the shelf appeared to fit quite tightly against the wall.) 
   5.5.27.  The day before coming to school, James (5;1) 
had asked, "How big is the school?  Is it as big as an 
aeroplane?"  Mrs. I. said, "Yes, I think it's bigger".  He 
laughed in a surprised way, and said, "Then it must be 
big if it's bigger than an aeroplane -- an aeroplane is such a big 
thing!"  Mrs. I. thought that there was perhaps some mis- 
understanding, and that perhaps he was thinking of the height 
of an aeroplane from the ground; she asked, "Are you 
referring to the height the aeroplane seems when it's in the 
air, or to the size of the aeroplane when it's on the ground?" 
After a pause, he said, slowly and deliberately, "No, I mean 
the size it is all the time". 
   13.5.27.  The children had been painting tables, and when 
helping them to clear it up, Mrs. I. got some on her dress. 
Lena (4;5) saw her trying to get it off with turpentine, and 
Mrs. I. told her that although she had had the dress a long 
time, she didn't want to spoil it.  Lena asked, "How long 
have you had it?"  Mrs. I. said, "Three years".  "Oh, 
then you must be three years old." 
   17.5.27.  A man visitor, an old friend of James, had had 
tea with the children in the garden, and afterwards James 
(5;2) went up to him and said, "When are you going?" 
The visitor replied, "Oh, presently".  James:  "Will you 
go now?"  "Why?"  "Well, after you've gone I'm 
going to play with Denis, but as long as you're here, I'd like 
to talk to you, so please will you go now?" 
   19.5.27.  James (5;2) was with the other children on the 
lawn, when they were running up a tall step-ladder and 
jumping from the top.  He was the smallest child there, and 
it would have been a very high jump for him.  He ran up 
the ladder several times and stood ready to jump, but could 
not bring himself to do it.  He said reflectively to himself, 
"If only I could run up quickly and do it immediately, then 
I could do it". 
   July. 1927.  Dan (6;1) spontaneously reflected at length 
on the fact that "a thing can't be nowhere -- it must be 
somewhere if it's a thing at all". 
   1.10.27.  At tea, Denis (3;10) said, "The bread's buttered 
already, isn't it?  so if we want it without butter we can't, 
can we? -- unless we `crape it off wiv a knife . . . and 
if we want it without butter and don't want to `crape it off 
wiv a knife, we have to eat it wiv butter, don't we?" 
 
            III.  SOCIAL INTERCHANGE OF KNOWLEDGE 

B.  DISCUSSIONS:  CORRECTIONS AND SELF-CORRECTIONS 

   19.1.25.  The children had seen Mrs. I. opening the sky- 
light and came to do it too, taking turns. One of them 
said, "Me after Tommy", and then Tommy (2;11) himself 
said, "Me after Tommy".  He at once drew Mrs. I.'s 
attention to this, laughing and repeating it -- "I said `Me 
after Tommy'". 
   30.1.25.  The children had made a motorá-ácar with a box 
and chairs.  Frank was sitting in front, and Dan wanted to 
sit there too, Frank said, "Oh, no -- two can't sit in the 
front -- you must sit in the back".  Dan (3;8) replied, "Oh, 
yes, two can sit in the front, two did this morning, you and 
George!"  This was said quite dispassionately, as a mere 
matter of fact. 
   3.2.25.  Christopher (4;5) made what he called "A France 
windmill", with sticks and clay.  Frank (5;3) said to him, 
"Make it go round".  Christopher twirled it round in his 
fingers. Frank said, "It doesn't go backwards and forwards 
like that -- it goes round".  Christopher replied, "Some- 
times it does go backwards and forward -- if the wind goes 
backwards and forwards". 
   10.2.25.  Paul (3;11) wanted someone to be Santa Claus; 
Mrs. I. suggested that Dan would. Dan was wearing a blue 
overall, and Paul replied, "Santa Claus does not be blue, 
he be's red, and when he is in the snow, he be's white". 
   11.2.25.  The children were modelling engines and railway 
lines, and Frank (5;3) insisted to the others that "the sleepers
are always underneath the lines", correcting another child's 
model. 
   3.3.25.  When modelling, Frank had made some railway 
lines. Paul asked him, "What about the sleepers?"  Dan 
answered, "Oh, this kind of railway doesn't have sleepers". 
Paul (4;0) said, "Oh, is it another country?" 
   9.3.25.  Looking at the picture of a whaling ship with 
smaller boats hung over the sides, one of the children said, 
"Those are lifeboats".  "No", said Paul (4;0), "life- 
boats don't he on the side of the ship, they are on the cliff 
in a long shed" 
   17.3.25.  Theobald brought to school what he called "an 
aeroplane"¬ -- a long piece of metal with a screw, and another 
piece which flew off into the air a short distance when pushed 
up with a tube.  The others were interested for a short time, 
but said, "It's a silly aeroplane -- it's not an aeroplane at 
all"; and Theobald (5;1) then agreed with this verdict. 
   7.5.25.  Frank remarked at lunch that the three pudding 
dishes were arranged "like a triangle"; Dan (4;0) hearing 
this, thought Frank was referring to the shapes of the dishes 
themselves, and corrected him, "Oh, that one is circular, 
and that is an ellipse -- and that one is an ellipse". 
   8.7.25.  While he was dressing after bathing, Harold (5;0) 
began spontaneously to talk to Mrs. I. about iron and wood. 
He said, "Iron won't break as easily as wood.  You can't 
saw it or chop it". 
   17.11.25.  The children had made a large boat with 
chairs, and were modelling while sitting in it.  They talked 
about trains and boats that went all night and one of 
them said, "What about the driver? When would he go 
to sleep?"  After discussion, they came to the conclusion 
that "you might have two drivers, one for the night and 
one for the day". 
   9.12.25.  After they had been in the garden, and their 
feet were cold, several of the children sat with their feet on 
the hot-water pipes.  Mrs. I. suggested that it was better not 
to do this, "as it might give you chilblains".  They were 
reluctant to accept this, as they found the warmth so pleasant,
and there was some argument as to whether or not it would 
lead to chilblains.  After five minutes or so, Priscilla (6;4). 
Dan (4;7) and Christopher (5;3) looked at their feet, and said 
triumphantly, "You see, we haven't got chilblains!"  And 
put them on the pipes again.  Mrs. I. remarked that it usually 
took rather longer than that for the chilblains to appear 
although even a short time on the pipe might start them. 
   2.2.26.  There was a discussion as to whether Priscilla 
should marry Dan or Frank.  Frank said, "You can't marry 
Dan, because daddy must be bigger than mammy".  The 
children appealed to Mrs. I. as to whether this was so, and 
each child was asked in turn whether his daddy was bigger 
than his mammy.  Christopher said quite accurately that his 
daddy was not.  Dan said, "No, they're the same".  The 
others all agreed that "daddies must be bigger than 
mammies".  Dan (4;8) at once said, "Yes, you see, I shall 
be bigger than Priscilla".
   19.4.26.  Tommy (4;2) modelled "a goose", and told 
Miss B., "It's flying", moving it in the air.  He was asked, 
"How can it fly when it hasn't any wings?"  His first 
reply was, "The wings are inside"; but presently he 
modelled the wings on to it. 
   15.7.26.  The children had been making a number of bags 
and other things with coloured cotton material, and had used 
all the stuff.  Dan (5;2) and Christopher (5;10) asked, "Can't 
we go and buy some more this morning?"  Mrs. I. replied, 
"I haven't any money this morning", and showed them her 
empty purse.  "Can't we go and get some money?"  Mrs. I. 
wrote out a cheque, and they went to the bank with her. 
Christopher remarked re the cheque book, "Oh, yes, my 
daddy has hundreds of books like that!"  While waiting for 
attention in the bank, they watched other people handing 
in cheques and receiving money, and saw one customer choose 
what sort of silver he would have in his áœá4 worth.  Christopher 
asked Mrs. I., "Are you going to choose what sort of money 
you'll have?"  They then went to the draper's shop, and 
bought coloured material.  Passing a cycle shop, Christopher 
asked Mrs. I. to buy him "a racing bicycle".   When she 
said she hadn't enough money for that he replied, "But 
you've got a lot of money you got from the bank".  They 
were quite satisfied when she explained that she needed that 
to buy food with. 
   19.10.26.  The children were threading glass beads, and 
sometimes found two stuck together (stuck in the making). 
Jessica (4;0) said, "Oh, look! here are two, stuck together". 
Lena (3;10) replied, "No, they're not stuck together -- that's 
the way they're made".  These remarks were repeated each 
time Jessica found a pair. 
   Dan (5;5) showed Lena and Jessica how "to weigh each 
other" on the see-saw. 
   15.11.26.  Dan (5;6) looked round for a U tube, saying
that he wanted "to show Jane that if we put water down 
in through a funnel, the water will come up the other side". 
   23.11.26.  The children were weighing each other on the 
see-saw.  Mrs. I. suggested shifting the weights nearer to the 
middle, and seeing "whether that made any difference". 
They found that they had to add two lb. weights to the 
number for Dan.  Then they kept the weights in one place, 
and asked Dan to "sit nearer the middle".  Dan (5;6) said, 
"It'll take more weights, won't it, because we have found 
that when a heavy boy is at one end, he must sit nearer the 
middle".  Jane (10;6) said, "No, it won't take so many", 
and found the correct solution by trial. 
   10.12.26.  The children were making "ships", and Dan 
said, "Mine's the Leviathan, and it has sailed up to Cam- 
bridge".  Miss D. asked, "Do you think ships could sail 
up to Cambridge?"  He replied emphatically.  Yes --  
ships can sail up rivers, can't they?"  Jane:  "Not the 
Leviathan -- it's a big, big ship.  It would be bigger than 
the river".  Dan (5;7):  "Oh, well then, it's another ship". 
   18.1.27.  Jane (10;8) told Miss D. of "an experiment" 
which she had done with her brother at home.  He had taken 
a piece of tubing, put it in the stream of gas where it came 
out of the pipe, unignited, and lit it at the far end of the 
tube.  She said, "I'd like to show you"; but finding only 
glass tubing, said she would not try "until Mrs. I. is here". 
   1.2.27.  The children were looking at a picture of a diver, 
and talked about it a good deal during the day.  Priscilla 
(7;6) said, "I couldn't be a diver, I suppose".  (Apparently 
because she was a girl.)  Jane: "Oh yes, you could;
you could have lady divers", and turned to Miss D. for 
confirmation.  Dan (5;9) said, "But you couldn't be a 
soldier!" 
   Lena (4;1) and Conrad (6;2) were looking at the fresh-water 
aquarium.  Conrad said, "I can see the snail".  Lena said. 
  "I can see it, but I wonder why it's sinking at the top".
Conrad, with great scorn, "It couldn't sink at the top (turning 
to Mrs. I.), could it?  If it sinks it goes to the bottom". 
Lena looked at Mrs. I. questioningly, so Mrs. I. said, "Yes, 
if it sinks it goes to the bottom".  "What does it do if it 
stays at the top?"  asked Lena.  Conrad:  "It's floating"; 
and Lena said with a happy little laugh, "It's floating". 
   3.2.27.  A visitor, Mr. B., came to the school, and talked 
to the children.  He asked, "What do you do with the 
gas?"  "Oh, we burn things, and we bend glass", replied 
Dan (5;9).  "But glass won't bend, will it?"  Dan replied, 
"Oh, yes, that will" (pointing to a long tube). 
   10.2.27.  Phineas (3;11) and Lena (4;1) were playing with 
small pieces of ice they had found in the garden.  Phineas 
"Oh, look at this dear little tiny one.  Do you like the tiny 
little ones?"  Lena:  "Yes, I like the very teeny ones". 
Phineas:  "It's `tweeny' not `teeny'".  Lena:  "It's
`teeny' but some people say `tweeny'". 
   23.5.27.  Alfred (5;5) took up one of the small drills 
belonging to the drilling machine.  He asked, "What's 
this?"  Joseph (4;1) told him, "It's a drill".  Alfred: 
"What is it for?  What does it do?"  Joseph:  "It's 
for boring holes with". 
   23.5.27.  Joseph (4;1) was sitting on a step and Alice was 
sitting below him.  He looked down at her and said, "I'm 
bigger than you, aren't I?"  Penelope, who was standing 
near, said, "Yes, and you are older, aren't you?  Alice is 
only three".  Joseph said, "Oh, yes, but I was three once; 
but one day I shall be bigger; I shall be a grown-up man 
and then I can marry Muriel".  Mrs. I. said, "Muriel -- 
is she a friend of yours?"  He said, "Yes, she takes me 
out in the afternoons" (his nurse). 
   25.5.27.  The children had a birthday party picnic on the 
river, and James and Tommy joined in roguish verbal play 
as to what they "would do to the other punts".  They said 
they would put their paddles under the next punt and "turn 
it upside down".  James said eagerly, "And then they 
would all fall out of the water".  Tommy (5;3) laughed and 
said, "They can't fall out of the water, they aren't in the 
water; they would fall into the water". 
   June, 1927.  At lunch, the children talked about "the 
beginning of the world".  Dan (6;1) insists, whatever may 
be suggested as "the beginning", that there must always 
have been "something before that".  He said, "You see, 
you might say that first of all there was a stone, and every- 
thing came from that -- but (with great emphasis), where did 
the stone come from?"  There were two or three variants 
on this theme.  Then Jane (11;0), from her superior store 
of knowledge, said, "Well, I have read that the earth was 
a piece of the sun, and that the moon was a piece of the 
earth".  Dan, with an air of eagerly pouncing on a fallacy, 
"Ah! but where did the sun come from?"  Tommy (5;4), 
who had listened to all this very quietly, now said with a 
quiet smile.  "I know where the sun came from!"  The 
others said eagerly, "Do you, Tommy?  Where?  Tell 
us".  He smiled still more broadly, and said, "Shan't tell 
you!"  to the vast delight of the others, who thoroughly 
appreciated this joke. 
   October, 1927.  Adam was threatening James with hostile 
expressions of what he would do to James, "I'll go to a shop 
and I'll get all the guns and all the swords and all the knives 
there are in the shop, and I'll kill you".  James (5;6) replied 
with a laugh, "They don't sell those things to children". 
 
                      IV.  MISCELLANEOUS 
 
   25.11.24.  Christopher cut across a drawing of a man, with 
his scissors.  Dan (3;6) cried out, "Oh, now it will be broke!
He's a broke man".
   27.1.25.  The children have stereotyped their drawings of 
engines -- each draws a boiler, a funnel, a cab with a window 
in it, and a man looking out of the window, a safety valve, 
a whistle, some wheels with spokes in them, and a connecting 
rod and sometimes, buffers. 
   11.2.25.  Paul (3;11) ran in from the garden to tell Mrs. I., 
"They've burnt a man".  She asked, "What sort of a 
man?"  "Oh, a drawn man!" 
   25.2.25.  Harold (5;1) told Mrs. I., "I like anyone that 
gives me presents, and Mummy spoils me, she gives me so 
many things". 
   11.3.25.  Paul (4;0) slipped on the stairs and hurt his 
back a little, and cried bitterly, saying, "Oh, I wish there 
weren't any stairs -- I wish there were no railings!" 
   24.3.25.  Martin (3;1) was using the counters, and Mrs. I. 
was sorting out the colour tablets.  He said, several times 
over, "I want to play with those -- I want to play with 
those", put away the counters, and took the colour tablets. 
He used them for some time as building bricks, talking 
continuously, a long monologue, partly about what he was 
doing -- calling the holes in the thing he was building 
"naughty" and "good", and saying "They're good 
because they do so-and-so", "naughty, naughty holes", 
and so on; and pay a hotch-potch of scraps of adult 
conversation without any consecutive meaning.  He often 
asked Mrs. I. what the things were that he had built -- "What's 
this?"  Or, "What's that noise?"  when the bricks fell 
on the table, or when he banged them down.  Sometimes 
he told her what he called the noise -- "I call that a crack 
noise". 
   Seeing the paint-boxes on the shelf, he then decided to 
paint, and began to put the colours away, saying, "I want 
to paint -- that's 'cause I'm putting these away". 
   10.6.25.  At lunch, Frank (5;8) said to Dan (4;1), "Dan, 
yesterday I drank so much gas water (soda water) that I 
nearly blew up to the sky">  Dan replied without any pause, 
"Frank, yesterday I ate so many potatoes that I nearly fell 
down to the ground". 
   Duncan (7;0) took up from the floor of the gallery some 
boards that had been put in rather inefficiently by the car- 
penter, to mend an old hole.  He was delighted at getting the 
boards up.  The following day he went to replace them, on 
Mrs. I.'s suggestion -- but actually nailed them down in another 
place. 
   14.2.27.  Phineas (4;0) and Lena were making plasticine 
bricks.  Lena rolled up little balls and then pressed them flat 
with her fingers. Phineas thought they weren't flat enough,
and kept saying, "Take the curve off, Lena".  He handed 
them to Miss C., and said, "Press them on the table". 
   4.3.27.  The children who stay to lunch have a practice 
of "bagging" the different towels provided for wiping the 
crockery.  Every day before lunch, they rush to the towel 
rail and take one of the towels up, touch it, and hold on 
to it for a few minutes.  Today, about the middle of the 
morning, they all rushed to do this, and each hung on to 
his towel saying, "Save, save, save!"  Mrs. I. asked them, 
"Please don't hang on to the towel rail -- you may break it". 
"All right, we won't, but we want to save it for a bit longer", 
repeating the gesture and the word, as if these somehow made 
the towels belong inherently to them thereafter. 
   The kettle was on the stove boiling, a jet of steam coming 
out of the spout.  Dan and Priscilla waved their hands at it, 
and Dan (5;9) spat at the kettle.  When Mrs. I. asked him, 
"Please don't spit", he replied, "But I wanted to stop?  
that coming out!" 
   June, 1927.  On a very hot day which had begun cool, 
James (5;3) was wearing a thick woollen jersey.  He was 
obviously very hot, his hands were sticky, and Mrs. I. sug- 
gested several times that he should change into a cotton shirt. 
He said, "This jersey is hot because it's made of wool". 
Mrs. I. replied, "Yes, I thought so; perhaps you'll put 
on a cotton one, as that would be cooler?"  "No, I don't 
want to; the only thing to do is to keep on having drinks 
of water." 
   June, 1927.  Joseph (4;0) saw how another child who had 
spilt something on the floor, was asked to wipe it up.  He 
asked Mrs. N., "Would you want me to wipe something 
up if I spilt it?"  "Oh, yes."  "Well, how would you 
make mp wipe it up if I didn't want to?"  He was very 
insistent with this question, "How would you make me?  
What would you do to make me? " 
   October, 1927.  Denis (3;10) was taken to have his hair 
cut by Miss D.  When she was ready to go she went into 
the dining-room for him, and he had not finished tea.  She 
offered to wait, but he was so eager to go that he dropped 
his bread-and-butter and went off at once.  They walked 
there and back, and coming home he was tired and hungry. 
While being bathed, he said mournfully, "Would you have 
thought that if somebody had to go and have his hair cut, 
it would take so long that you didn't finish your tea, and when 
you got back it was your bed-time?"  

                        CHAPTER FIVE 

                   BIOLOGICAL INTERESTS: 
              GENERAL ASPECTS OF THE PROBLEM 

   The interest in pets and plants of children of kindergarten
and infant-school age, has long been recognised, and needs 
no demonstration.  Yet these early pleasures and curiosities 
of little children, catered for in every well conducted infant 
school, have not been satisfactorily carried forward in the 
following years, nor well linked up with later biological 
interests -- even where these latter, indeed, receive any serious 
notice. 
   This is without doubt due to a number of influences, 
including all those circumstantial and historical ones which 
have until now left the years between the infant school and 
the senior grades high and dry and barren in the middle of 
the flow of educational advancement.  But perhaps it is also 
due to faulty psychology, a lack of any clear perception of the 
nature of these interests in the early years, which has prevented 
our seeing their full value as a cumulative educational medium. 
We romanticise and sentimentalise our children's attitude to 
plants and animals, and need not then be surprised if this 
leads to their interest being dissipated and lost. 
   During recent years, some general attention has been given 
to biological teaching for children, owing to the growing 
demand for some form of "sex information", which, it 
is commonly and rightly felt, should be based on a broad 
biological approach.  The years usually considered relevant 
to this, however, are the early adolescent or pre-pubertal 
years -- anything, say, from ten onwards.  So that this, again. 
would leave an unfruitful gap between the care of kinder- 
garten pets and plants and the later, more definite studies 
of botany and zoology. 
   The view here presented, based upon the observations 
recorded, is that an active, continuous and cumulative interest 
in animal and plant life -- but particularly animal -- develops 
easily and uninterruptedly out of the little child's first impulses 
of curiosity and pleasure in these things, given certain 
conditions. 

   These conditions are: -- 

A.  That we free ourselves from prejudices and inadequate 
thinking, as to 
   (1) The order in which plant and animal life should be 
           dealt with; and 
   (2) The fields of fact which are acceptable to the little 
           child, and educationally valuable. 

B.  That we follow the child's actual direction of interest, 
and day-to-day questionings, and provide the situations and 
the material which will answer his questions, and stimulate 
his interest still further. 
   Consider first, A.1, the question of whether we should
try to start the study of biology through plants or animals. 
General opinion has inclined to favour the virtues of plants. 
but the grounds for this view are rarely set out.  Professor 
G. H. Thomson, for instance, writing in 1924, in Instinct, 
Intelligence and Character, on sex education, says (p. 160), 
"Giving such knowledge (through the botanical approach) 
as makes sex seem natural. . . ", but gives no hint 
as to why he takes "the botanical approach" thus for 
granted.  One wants to know what the supposed grounds 
are.  Is it held that children are natively more interested in 
plants than in animals?  Or that the study of plants has a 
greater intellectual value?  That it yields a more important 
range of facts -- more important either in themselves, or in 
relation to the biological problems affecting human life?  Are 
the sexual processes in plants assumed to throw more light 
upon human sexual physiology?  Or is the preference due to 
a conflict of fear and embarrassment with intelligence in our- 
selves?  Do we favour the study of plants just because it 
is more remote from the facts of human sexual relations, and 
we are afraid to make more than a half-concession to our con- 
viction of the child's need for knowledge and understanding? 
   The observations recorded below very strongly suggest 
(a) that children of the ages covered (4-10) are on the whole 
more actively and spontaneously interested in animals than 
in plants; 
(b) that the facts of the life-cycle in animals are far more 
easily and directly perceived and understood by the child; 
(c) that the interest in animals is far more genuinely biological, 
plants being often little more than gifts and decorations; and 
(d) that this interest is therefore more easily sustained and 
articulated, and ramifies more naturally into cumulative 
knowledge and settled pursuits. 
   The detailed psychology of the recorded observations on 
which these views are based, is discussed in a later paragraph. 
   A.(2).  Opinion has been, if anything, still more rigid as to 
the fields of fact in which the young child shall be allowed 
to interest himself, within the study of animals.  He has been 
encouraged to watch their behaviour, to care tenderly and 
protectively for them, and sometimes even to breed them; 
but it has not been considered desirable that he should take any 
interest in (a) the facts of internal structure and physiology -- 
particularly if this involves any reference to the processes 
of digestion, excretion, reproduction, etc., in humans; and 
(b) the facts of death.  If with somewhat older children (ten 
years or more) it is desired to give them some knowledge of 
physiology, then this must be done through text-books or 
diagrams -- but never by direct investigation of the bodies of 
dead animals, in dissection.  And such a thing is completely 
out of the question for young children.  So strong is this 
widely held attitude that it is difficult to get many people 
even to consider the possible wisdom of the opposite
course -- they are too disturbed by the mere suggestion to be able to 
give it any attention. 
   Perhaps they fear that to "look inside" dead bodies will 
either shock and frighten the children, or will encourage them 
to cruelty with living animals.  But when one assures them 
from one's own experience that the majority of little children 
are neither shocked nor frightened, nor made cruel by these 
ways of study, the solid wall of prejudice does not melt 
away, and one is in the end left with the suspicion that the 
real attitude is "Well, if they're not shocked or frightened, 
they ought to be!" 
   Such an uncompromising attitude about what the feelings 
and behaviour of young children should be is, however, not 
easy to maintain after one has reflected a little on the extra- 
ordinarily confused and conflicting ways in which we adults 
actually behave towards animals, in the sight of children. 
What children make of our injunctions to be "kind", and 
our horror at any impulse of cruelty on their part, in the face 
of our own deeds, and the everyday facts of animal death 
for our uses and pleasures, would be hard to say.  There 
is probably no moral field in which the child sees so many 
puzzling inconsistencies, as here. 
   Let us try to sort out the varying standards and ways of 
grown-up behaviour with which any child in an ordinary 
environment is bound to come into contact, in varying degrees. 

(1) We (the majority of us) eat dead animals, and the child 
early realises that the "meat" given to him on the table 
comes from the bodies of animals killed for the purpose, and 
sees these displayed in the butchers' shop -- whole animals, 
pigs, sheep, fowl, rabbits, fish, etc., as well as the politer 
joints. 

(2) We kill for our own safety, as the child soon learns from 
our stories of fierce animal -- lions, bears, and so on; or 
as he sees us do, on any summer day when the wasps come 
round the jam. 

(3) We kill animals which are a nuisance to us -- the slugs 
which eat our lettuces (any child of a gardening father may 
be asked to help collect slugs and put them into salt water), 
the rooks and pigeons which are supposed to harm our 
crops, the weasels and stoats which prey upon our game, the 
rats which invade our hen-roost; and the vermin which 
may encroach upon our household or our person -- fleas, 
cockroaches, mice; the child may even be encouraged by 
scientific evidence to "kill that fly".  We kill also the super- 
fluous young of our pets, cats and dog -- simply because we 
do not want them. 

(4) We (many of us, even some of those who teach children
to be "kind") kill for sport.  The child meets or hears 
of the fox- or stag-hunter, the wild-fowler, the angler, the 
big-game hunter (a great hero).  Some parents will express 
disapproval of some of these sports -- the stag chase or wild- 
fowling perhaps -- but few will have any protest to make about 
fishing. 

(5) Many mothers clothe themselves in the skins of dead 
animals, fur coats, etc., and we all make use of their skins 
in boots, bags, and other leather articles. 

(6) We keep, as loved pets, animals which are themselves 
"cruel" -- the cat which not only kills but tortures mice, the 
terrier which is "a good ratter".  We speak in admiration 
of the song and parental care of, for example, the insect 
and worm-eating birds; and the strength and skill of the 
carnivorous mammals.  Nor can we do other -- but how con- 
fusing for the child to whom our only direct teaching is, 
"You mustn't be cruel! Be kind and gentle!" 

(7) We communicate to our children curious phobias about 
particular creatures -- spiders, mice, snakes, all "creepy and 
crawly" things; and will often kill them just because they 
are distasteful. 
 
(8) Some of us kill for collecting purposes.  Young children 
are often taught how to catch, kill and "set" moths and 
butterflies, by otherwise humane parents and elders. 
 
   Besides these modes of behaviour, which are in direct 
or indirect contradiction to our explicit teaching, and to 
our responses to any cruelty on the part of the children them- 
selves, there appear to be the following very disparate general 
attitudes among adults: --  
 
(9) The poetic, merging into the sentimental, in which we 
write poems about the skylark and robin redbreast. 
 
(10) Utilitarian keeping and breeding -- cows, horses, etc. 
 
(11) Pet-keeping, either for the pleasures of companionship 
or possession. 
 
(12) The non-interfering study of birds and animals, as in 
modern "bird-watching"; most children meet some intelli- 
gent people who have this outlook on the animal world to a 
greater or less degree. 
 
(13) Experimental study, on the living or dead animal, in 
anatomical and physiological research. 
 
   Many years ago, Sully was able to show how these contra-
dictions do in fact trouble little children.  In the "Extracts 
from a Father's Diary", given in Studies of Childhood (1903 
edition), the following incidents occur. 
 
   P. 460.  (Age 3;6).  "He was at this time, like other 
children, much troubled about the killing of animals for food. 

Again and again he would ask with something of fierce 
impatience in his voice:  `Why do people kill them?'  On 
one occasion he had plied his mother with these questionings. 
He then contended that people who eat meat must like animals 
to be killed.  Finally, to clench the matter he turned on his 
mother and asked:  `Do you like them to be killed?'"  
   Again at 3;11, on the mother expressing dislike of a 
caterpillar:  "Why don't you like caterpillars?"  The 
mother answers playfully, "Because they make the butter- 
flies".  The boy asked, "Why don't you like butterflies?" 
The parents laughed, the boy then thoughtfully saying, 
"Caterpillars don't make a noise".  (The parents disliked 
noise-producing animals.) 
   P. 475, (Age 4;4).  Looking at a picture book of animals, 
and apropos of a picture of some seals: 
   C.:  "What are seals killed for, Mamma?" 
   M.:  "For the sake of their skins and oil". 
   C. (turning to a picture of a stag):  "Why do they kill the 
        stags? They don't want their skins, do they? " 
   M.:  "No, they kill them because they like to chase them ". 
   C.:  "Why don't policemen stop them? 
   M.:  "They can't do that, because people are allowed to 
        kill them". 
   C. (loudly and passionately):  "Allowed, allowed?  People 
        are not allowed to take other people and kill them". 
   M.:  "People think there is a difference between killing 
        men and killing animals". 
   C. was not to be pacified this way. He looked woe-begone, 
        and said to his mother piteously, "You don't 
        understand me". 
   Not all these various trends in our dealings with animals 
will come the way of every child, or at the same time, or 
with equal emphasis but he is bound to meet most of them 
in influential form, even in his young years; and, in the 
majority of cases, discovers them existing side by side in 
his own parent -- and cheek by jowl with their command- 
ments to him.  The case would be comparatively simple for 
the child of parents who were entirely consistent in their 
sentiments and conduct towards animal -- for example, the 
extreme vegetarian, who refused to exploit animals for any 
human purpose whatever -- food, dress, comfort.  But it needs 
no Samuel Butler to point out the impossible dilemmas in 
which such a would-be consistent would quickly find himself -- 
how, for instance, would he supply his table with rice, if he 
refused to let someone else guard the rice plantation from 
trampling animals, or with green vegetables, if he refused 
to have the rabbits snared, or the slugs destroyed?  And, 
in any case, whilst this might make the moral atmosphere 
a little less bewildering for the small child, as long as he 
remained within his own doors, it would cut him off in the 
most unhealthy way from the common ethos of his time. 
   The solution for the educator must lie rather in a more 
balanced and positive attitude to the various psychological 
tendencies and external necessities which lie behind these 
confusions and contradictions.  Is it possible to arrive at a 
reasonably consistent set of standards for the demands we 
make on children, one that will be both more honest and 
more intelligible to them, and more easily maintained against 
real necessity?  One, moreover, that will yield a more satis- 
factory psychological solution for their own internal conflicts?  
   For the problem is still further complicated by the contra- 
dictory impulses of the child himself.  The great majority of 
little children resemble their parents in being compact of both 
tenderness and cruelty, of the impulse to cherish alongside the 
desire to master and hurt.  We can see this in any group of 
small children left free with small animals, or digging in the 
garden for worms.  Sometimes one impulse has the upper 
hand, sometimes the other but few (if any) children fail 
to give some sign at one time or other, in one way or other, 
of both these aims.  (See note, p. 211.) 
   Our problem is then, here as elsewhere, to make a positive 
educational use of the child's impulses, so that they shall be 
fertile in skill and imaginative understanding, and lead out 
of themselves to the world of objective knowledge and common 
human purpose. 
   It seems possible to maintain, in ourselves and our children, 
the demand that no living animals with which we have any 
contact or for which we are responsible, shall be allowed any 
avoidable pain or suffering.  We can refuse to let children 
tease or hurt, or make suffer by neglect, any animals with 
which they have to do, and we can easily keep to this standard 
in our own behaviour. 
   But external necessity, no less than psychological need, 
shows at once that the mere negative demand is not enough. 
It may happen that we have to put a suffering animal out 
of its pain, or destroy a family of kittens or mice so that we 
may not be over-run.  If we have induced in our children 
such a sensitive horror of the facts of pain or death, by our 
teaching about cruelty, that they cannot kill an injured bird, 
or a rabbit caught in a trap alive but mutilated -- or that they 
prefer to leave the unwanted kittens to drown slowly and 
painfully by themselves rather than stay to make sure that 
they are quite deprived of air -- then we have overshot the
mark, and defeated our ostensible aim.  The truly humane 
person is made of stern stuff on occasion.  What could be 
more admirable than the courage and decision of the little 
girl of 5á«á years, who, distressed by the sight of a cat playing 
with a live mouse, ran to get a chopper, seized the furious 
cat firmly by the scruff of the neck, killed the mouse with a 
blow of the chopper, and flung the cat down again saying, 
"There! You can have it now!"1 
   We have, then, to let our children face -- when it comes 
their way -- the fact of animal death, as a fact of nature as 
well as of the necessities of human sustenance.  There is, of 
course, no need to go out of our way to introduce them to 
it, or to focus their attention upon it.  This would very 
probably be most unwise.  But no child can keep pet animals, 
or move about in a garden or the country-side, or, as we 
have seen, in the streets of the town, without coming up 
against the fact of death.  And what I suggest is that if 
when they meet it, our children show an intelligent interest 
in a dead body, and the possible causes of the death, there 
is no moral or intellectual ground for turning their gaze away 
from it, or failing to use it for the purpose of enlivening their 
understanding of the processes of life, and the imaginative 
sympathy that goes with understanding. 
   All this would fall away, it is fully admitted, if the sight 
or handling or investigation of a dead pet animal did shock 
or frighten children, or disturb them deeply.  So far as 
experience goes, however, there is every reason to think that 
this is not so, apart from exceptional cases (although, of course, 
one looks for the possibility of limiting conditions and ages). 
Again, so far from increasing the impulses to cruelty in 
children, the effect seems to be the very reverse.  The children 
 
1 I am indebted for the incident to Mr. S. J. F. Philpott. 

observed showed greater sympathy with the living animals, 
and more consistent care, after they had "looked inside" 
the dead ones, and fewer lapses into experimental cruelty. 
   In other words, the impulse to master, and destroy was 
taken up into the aim of understanding.  The living animal 
became much less an object of power and possession, and 
much more an independent creature to be learnt about, 
watched and known for its own sake.  The children's minds 
turned more freely and steadily towards the non-interfering, 
observational attitude of many modern naturalists towards 
living animals in their own setting (bird-watchers, big-game 
observers and photographers), whose work has won an 
important place for itself in the world of biological science 
to-day.  Our constructive method of (a) welcoming any 
interest shown by the children in the processes of life -- in 
eating, digesting, excreting, breathing, the beating of the 
heart, running and walking, being ill and dying, etc., among 
their pet animals; (b) of looking inside those animals
which died, in order to find out more about these processes; 
and (c) following up any references offered by the children 
to the human body, did actually achieve a steadily humane 
outlook, and enliven the children's sense of responsibility 
towards their pets and towards animals in general. 
   The method thus becomes an active influence in the building 
up of a positive morality of behaviour towards animals, going 
beyond the mere negative standard of not being unkind to 
them, and expressed in an eager and intelligent interest in 
their life-histories, and a lively sympathy with their doings 
and happenings. 
B.  All this, however (the "bird-watching" as well as the 
"looking inside "), would not be so fruitful if it did not 
spring out of the movements of the young child's own mind, 
and if it were not kept in close touch with these.  There is no 
room here for any educational pedantry of regular "lessons", 
of systematic questioning or statement-making by adults, or 
any sort of formal air of learning.  We may cast our theoretical 
statement as to what the children gain from their activities 
into such words as "cumulative and articulated knowledge", 
"settled pursuits" and the like; but to the children them- 
selves, the whole thing was (and must be allowed to be) 
just a simple following up of their pleasure in watching and 
playing with their pets, feeding and caring for them, noting 
the day-today changes of their lives -- birth, growth and 
death, talking freely about these things, and raising their 
questions as to how and why and wherefore, as children will 
when left free to da so.  Our part was to meet these questions 
when they arose, never to turn away from any of them on 
merely sentimental or quasi-moral grounds, to give the children 
the wherewithal to work out their questionings to practical 
answers, to supply any further information which the children 
needed and could not obtain directly, and thus to provide 
a positive stimulus towards the further development of a 
sustained interest in all the ways of animal life. 
   The whole of the investigations recorded here arose out of 
the every-day events in the histories of the animals kept in 
school, or of live or dead animals seen in the streets or the 
countryside, and in spontaneous conversations about these -- 
(very often meal-table talk).  (Where this way of starting 
from their spontaneous interests is not actually shown in the 
details of these particular records, it can nevertheless be taken 
as invariably true, and as a central point of the general method 
of the school, as has been shown in Chapter Two.) 
   There was, in fact, much in common between our method, 
and that used in his village school by Mr. Clayton with older 
children, capable of rather more sustained and systematic 
inquiry.  "The owl was in disgrace.  The keeper declared 
that it killed his young pheasants and `my lord' had given 
the order for its extinction.  Could the school do anything 
to save the race in the district?  An appeal to his lordship
on the score that the owl was a useful member of the bird 
community had been met with the rejoinder, `Prove your 
statement and the birds shall be spared'.  We secured an 
armistice, and then we set about it.  The course we decided 
on was most interesting but decidedly smelly.  Owl casts were 
collected from the abodes of six pairs of owls at different 
intervals.  By repeatedly washing these in boiling water they 
were thoroughly cleansed and disintegrated.  An abundance 
of fur from mole and vole and mouse and rat was secured, 
but neither feather nor bone of bird was discovered.  The 
seniors were so proud of this experiment that they arranged 
the fur and bones in an artistic manner on a sheet of card- 
board, and, having framed it in a glazed box, added it to 
our permanent wall decoration.  His lordship was invited to 
inspect this case and read some of the notes in connection 
with the work.  We heard later that he had issued an order 
that any keeper who trapped or shot an owl was to be at 
once discharged." (William Clayton, "The Village School, 
what it can do", in The Schoolmaster, September 17th, 1924, 
and October 8th, 1926.) (Quoted by Professor Findlay in 
The Foundations of Education.) 
   Let us now consider briefly what may be the particular 
values of animal and plant life respectively, to young 
children -- as suggested by the records given below, and by 
ordinary experience. 
   Flowers and flowering plants in the garden, as we know 
well, attract even the very young child's attention by their 
bright colours and pleasant smells, and these remain a per- 
manent source of interest and keen pleasure.  The bright 
colours and varying shapes give rise to their use as gifts and 
as decorations, and these two seem to be the most significant 
and spontaneous ways of regarding flowers which young 
children show.  Occasionally the different forms or ways of 
growth evoke a mild interest for their own sakes, but this 
is fleeting and sporadic in these early years unless more or 
less compulsorily turned into a "subject" by adults.1 
   A more active and inquiring interest is called out when 
some easily noticed change occurs -- such as the quick germina- 
tion and growth of cress seeds, the bursting of flower or leaf 
buds, the sudden appearance of the green shoots of bulbs 
from the bare earth.  But apart from these occasional experi- 
ences, the general slow tempo of vegetable life, and the lack 
of movement and sound, means that there is here far less 
either to arrest the immediate interest of the young child, or 
to evoke any effort of active inquiry, than in the case of the 
world of animals. 

1 Apropos of the subject of Nature Study, it may be worth while 
to note here a remark made by Jane, the ten-year-old girl who 
appears in the records in 1926-7.  Jane was a visitor to the school 
for one year, owing to illness in her own home in a provincial town,
where she attended a well-known school for girls, and had a very 
creditable school record.  (Her mental ratio was 143.) It will be 
seen from the records how eager and sustained was her interest in 
the 
living animals, the dissections, the human skeleton and anatomical 
diagrams.  She had some considerable knowledge of birds and bird- 
life, too, gathered in her country walks.  I was with her when she 
saw her first king-fisher, and remember the keen delight she 
showed. 
Yet one day she was overheard telling the other children about the 
things she did in her own school, and saying, "And we do `Nature 
Study', but I hate it -- it's always so dull!"
   One must not, of course, under-rate the delights and educa- 
tional values of gardening, and of the experience of seasonal 
changes which it brings.  Digging and watering have an 
immediate and never-failing appeal to quite young children, 
and for those rather older, the pleasure of gathering the fruit 
of one's own labour in the garden is very great.  As the 
summarised records point out, we made as much use as 
possible of all gardening activities, throughout the year. 
   Our pleading here is not that we should let plant-life and 
gardening go in favour of animal biology -- but that we should 
give the latter its own important place, and cease to exclude 
or cripple it by a false psychology and pseudo-morality. 
   For the child's interest in animals is far more lively and 
sustained, and needs less support and stimulus from us.  It 
should, indeed, surprise us if this were not so.  The move- 
ments and constantly changing behaviour, the warm touch, 
the voice, the responses of the animal to the child's own
behaviour, call out not only an interest in things happening, 
but a feeling of companionship, an immediate sympathy, 
which makes the relationship at once active and mutual. 
Plants and flowers are, as it were, mere instruments of passive 
pleasures; animals are active and adaptive creatures, which 
the child finds he can act upon or be moved by, much as 
in the case of human beings.  Hence he shows a variety of 
attitudes towards them, according to the kind of animal, or 
his own changing moods and phases of development.  The 
small animal, for instance, becomes to him a living toy, which 
he can tyrannise over or cherish.  The larger animals (a big 
dog), those strange or fierce (the spider, the Zoo lion or tiger), 
those more independent of human will (the birds), demand 
understanding through their very strangeness and fearsome- 
ness.  Moreover, all of them get taken up into the drama of 
the child's phantasy life, in one way or another (as the records 
show).  There is everything here to call out his interest in 
their behaviour and ways of life. 
   The changes occurring in animal life, moreover, are much 
more easily seen and grasped than those in plants -- feeding 
and drinking, breathing and sleeping, the processes of excre- 
tion, the changes of growth.  Or the life-cycle of birth, growth 
and death -- even a young child can grasp much of what is 
happening, with scarcely any comment from an adult, if he
keeps a pair of mice, presently finds a family of young, sees 
these feeding from the mother and watches them grow up 
and become parents in their turn.  The whole thing happens 
within the span of his power of observation and memory --  
and is of an order and a scale which he can see and under- 
stand directly. 
   It is, I think, these two factors which make the study of 
animal life develop more easily into cumulative knowledge 
and sustained pursuits than that of vegetable life, viz., the 
empathy which the young child feels with the living, moving, 
responsive animal, as the starting point of interest; and the 
comparative ease with which the major facts in their life 
processes and life cycle can be directly observed, as the main 
condition.  The facts connect up more easily for him, the 
links are more apparent; and he has his own physiological 
experiences and his own impulses, to give them life and reality. 
   How far less easily seen and understood are the relationships 
of plants to the soil and the air, or the cycle of plant life!  It 
is surely only possible to advocate the teaching of the 
"nature study" of plants before that of animals, of botany 
before zoology, if we temporarily lose sight of all our general 
psychology and pedagogy of interest and of the learning 
processes.   


                          CHAPTER SIX 
 
                BIOLOGICAL INTERESTS:  RECORDS. 
 
            A.  GARDENING, AND INTEREST IN FLOWERS 

   The children's interest in flowers and plants, and in the 
garden generally, does not need more than a brief summary, 
since all this is very familiar ground, and our records have 
not anything particularly new to offer.  The incidents quoted 
below are only selected examples of what was a constant 
activity of the children. 
   The garden was the general background of the school life, 
everything that could possibly be done out-of-doors being 
carried on there.  Most of the children helped in the general 
care of the garden-brushing up and carting leaves, weeding, 
burning rubbish, cutting the grass and making hay, trimming 
the rose-hedge, and so on.  Each child had his own plot, and 
cared for it according to his ability for sustained effort --  
digging, planting bulbs, sowing seeds, gathering the flowers 
to decorate the schoolroom or to give to a friend.  There 
were a number of fruit trees, and the children gathered 
blossom, or climbed the trees for the fruit, as the seasons
came and went. 
   The different incidents are grouped as: 1, Active interest. 
2, Phantasy.  3, Flowers as gifts and decorations. 
 
1.  Active Interest. 

YEAR 1925.  Children quoted, and ages on 1.1.25: 

   Frank (5;2), Tommy (2;10), Harold (4;11), George (4;4), 
Paul (3;9), Dan (3;7), Christopher (4;3), Theobald (4;10), 
Duncan (6;8). 
   24.2.25.  A day or two ago Mrs. I. had sown some 
mustard seeds on flannel, and to-day Frank noticed that they 
were growing.  All the children looked at them. 
   3.3.25.  Tommy spent some time carrying round and 
touching the mustard plants, which had now grown tall. 
   17.3.25.  Frank had sown some fresh mustard seeds a few 
days ago, and all the children interested themselves this 
morning, very eagerly, in the green shoots, talking about the 
rate of growth, etc. 
   19.3.25.  Frank looked at the mustard seeds, and talked 
of "the way they're growing".  "The leaves must have 
been inside the seeds", he said. 
   22.4.25.  Harold talked to the other boys about whether 
Mrs. I. had brought the promised seeds, and then went to 
ask her.  When she said "Yes", there were shouts of 
pleasure, and questions as to what sort she had brought. 
She gave each boy some nasturtium, onion and pea seeds. 
Harold said, "We'll have to put sticks beside the peas". 
They all dug their gardens and planted the seeds -- George 
showing the most patience and intelligence in his methods, 
but all being very interested and careful. 
   15.5.25.  The children, on Mrs. I.'s suggestion, gathered 
one of each different kind of flower in the garden, and with 
her, compared and named them.  They went over the names 
two or three times. 
   8.6.25.  The children helped to cut the grass and make hay. 
   12.6.25.  The children gathered and cooked sticks of 
rhubarb, and cut some roses with the shears. 
   3.7.25.  Theobald climbed trees and ate apples. 
   When the children were eating unripe apples, Harold and 
Paul said several times that their daddy had told them that 
if they did that, they "would be poisoned".  Theobald 
remarked on this with great scorn and scepticism. 
   6.7.25.  Some of the children climbed the cherry trees, and 
gathered the fruit.  Earlier on, they had called the cherries 
"grapes" or "pears", but now that some were ripe, they 
recognised them. 
   8.7.25.  Harold and Duncan took turns at climbing a
cherry tree to gather the fruit, and holding the ladder. 
   13.7.25.  The children gather cherries for each other every 
day now -- taking turns at holding the ladder firm, 
   15.10.25.  Christopher gathered leaves, and brought them 
to Mrs. I. to show her the veins and hairs on the leaves, with 
delicate observation. 
   29.10.25.  The children again put bulbs into their gardens. 
   18.11.25.  Frank tried to move a small ash-tree from one 
part of the general garden to his own plot, but could not get 
it up because of the long tap root.  He then tried with a rose 
bush, and managed to get this up and re-plant it.  Later, he 
moved some iris plants to a large pot standing in his own 
garden. 
   30.11.25.  A few days earlier, Mrs. I. and the children 
had put some dried beans and peas to soak in water.  Frank 
went to look at these today, and remarked that they had 
"bulged".  The other children joined him, and on Mrs. I.'s 
suggestion, tried to take the skins off, seeing how easily they 
came off, how soft the soaked peas and beans were and that 
when the skins were taken off, the inside came into two 
separate parts. 
 
YEAR 1926.  Children quoted. and ages on 1.1.26:

   Dan (4;7), Phineas (2;10), Jessica (3;3), Priscilla (6;4), 
Tommy (3;10), Conrad (5;0), Lena (3;0), Jane (9;8). 
   19.4.26.  A few days ago Mrs. I. and the children had 
gathered apple, pear and cherry blossom, and Dan had said 
that someone had told him that "if we plucked the blossom 
the apples would not grow".  To-day he went to look at the 
trees to see if the apples were there yet. 
   22.4.26.  Some of the children having asked, "Why can't 
we grow our own potatoes?"  Mrs. I. agreed that they should 
do so, and they have been digging two large beds in prepara- 
tion.  To-day they planted these beds -- Phineas, Dan, Jessica 
and Priscilla joining in this.  Mrs. I. dug the deep trenches, 
and the children brought the potatoes in pails, put them at 
the bottom of the trench, and covered them over. 
   26.4.26.  A few days ago, Mrs. I. and the children had 
sown some cress seeds and peas, and the children remarked 
to-day, "The roots are growing down from the seed". 
   7.5.26.  Another lot of cress and peas and beans had been 
sown, and the children often looked at them, noticing that 
the peas were longer than the cress in beginning to germinate. 
and the beans slowest of all.  They have cut and eaten the 
cress on several occasions. 
   23.6.26.  Jessica spontaneously remarked on a yellow 
patch on the lawn where a table had been upturned and left 
for some time. 
   3.11.26.  Conrad gathered a large boxful of pears, and 
brought them in, suggesting that they should peel and cook
some for lunch.  He, Lena and Phineas did this, with Mrs. I.'s 
help. 
   18.12.26.  Jane noticed that the buds on the chestnuts were 
already large and sticky. 
 
YEAR 1927.  Children quoted, and ages on 1.1.27: 

   Phineas (3;10), Lena (4;0), Conrad (6;0), Priscilla (7;4). 
   7.2.27.  Phineas and Lena looked at the growing mustard 
and cress, and were surprised to see how much they had 
grown.  Phineas asked, "What are they called?  What 
makes them grow?  Does the water?" 
   8.2.27.  Phineas went to look at the mustard and cress as 
soon as he arrived, and to give them water. 
   1.3.27.  Lena and Conrad gathered snowdrops from the 
garden, and put them in a box of sand. 
   Phineas was pleased because he found a mauve crocus 
growing beside yellow ones, in his plot. 
   He found some scillas, and called them "blue snowdrops". 
   2.3.27.  Phineas wanted to change his garden to-day, and 
have "the one with blue daisies in it" (anemones), and 
cried because this was already Lena's.  Lena agreed to let 
him have some of her "blue daisies", and Priscilla dug one 
up for her to give to Phineas, who planted it in his garden. 
He then said he wanted a crocus, and Mrs. I. found one for 
him growing on the rubbish heap, which he removed.  He 
and Lena spent a long time watering his garden with a little
pail.  First they watered the things just planted; then he 
said, "Some for these little bulbs -- they haven't had no 
water at all, the pour little things's".  Then Priscilla asked 
Phineas for one of his yellow crocuses, and he dug one up 
for her and one for Lena. 
   8.3.27.  Phineas went to look at his garden, and found the 
mauve crocus which he had planted last week; he showed it 
to Miss C., saying, "It's come out -- that's because I made it 
some nice pudding".  He wanted to plant more bulbs, and 
went to the rubbish heap to look for more.  There were two 
crocuses open, and he began to dig them up.   The stems 
broke, and they came up without the bulbs.  Phineas said, 
"Are they broken?"  and Lena told him, "Yes, because 
there aren't any bulbs". 
   Later, when she was trying to dig one up in her plot, she 
also broke it, and asked whether it would grow.  Miss C. 
said, "Do you think it will?"  and Lena replied.  "I don't 
think so, because it hasn't any bulb". 
   Later Phineas dug one up complete with the bulb, and 
shouted, "There's the root -- that one will grow".  He planted 
it in his own plot. 
   15.3.27.  As soon as Phineas came he noticed all the 
flowers, pointing to the almond blossom which had come out 
in water; he asked after the ivy berries which had not come
out, inquired if they are "buds", and Mrs. I. said, 
"No".  Then he looked at each of the bowls of bulbs, 
noticed that some of the scillas were dying, and saw the 
enlarged green ovary with the withered petals round it. 

2.  Phantasy. 

YEAR 1925.  Children quoted, and ages on 1.1.25 

   Frank (5;2), Dan (3;7), Christopher (4;3), Tommy (2;10). 
   11.3.25.  Frank asked Miss B. to pick a spray of pink 
blossom for him, and then ran about the garden with it as "an 
express wedding train". 
   11.6.25.  Frank and Dan dug a large hole in the lawn, 
and poured water into it.  They put a flower in the water, 
and said, "It's a water lily".  Tommy said scornfully, "It's 
not a water-lily". 
   30.6.25.  Christopher brought Mrs. I. a holly-hock bud 
to show her "the blood". He opened it and said, "I'll 
show you the flower first", then he showed her the yellow 
stamens, and called those "the blood". 

YEAR 1927.  Child quoted: Phineas (3;10, 1.1.27). 

   8.3.27.  Phineas went to look at his garden, and found the 
mauve crocus which he had planted last week he showed 
it to Miss C., saying, "It's come out -- that's because I made 
it some nice pudding". 
 
3.  Flowers as Gifts and Decorations. 

   Only a few of the more distinctive examples of the use of 
flowers as gifts and decorations are quoted; this sort of event 
was a commonplace in the life of the children, and the full 
records would make monotonous reading. 
 
YEAR 1924-5.  Children quoted, and ages on 1.10.24.: 

   Paul (3;6), Martin (2;8), Harold (4;8), Theobald (4;7), Dan 
(3;4), Frank (4;11), Priscilla (5;1), Tommy (2;7), George 
(4;1), Christopher (4;0), Cecil (3;11). 
   13.1.25.  The children all noticed the bulbs growing in the 
garden.  They saw some snowdrops and gathered them. 
   16.2.25.  Frank came into the schoolroom and asked for 
one of the schoolroom vases, saying that he would put some- 
thing into it.  Mrs. I. gave him one, and then later, on request, 
a second one.  He dug up the crocus bulbs and put the flowers 
from the garden into the pots, and brought them into the 
school. 
   17.2.25.  Mrs. I. was obliged to interfere with something 
Paul was doing.  He flushed and looked angry, and then said 
in a very emphatic way, "I am very ashamed of you". 
Mrs. I. said, "Are you, Paul?"  Later he became friendly 
again, and through the rest of the day he was more friendly 
than he has ever been.  At the end of the afternoon he went 
into the garden and gathered a bunch of crocuses and said, 
"These are for you, Mrs. I." 
   17.3.25.  Mrs. I. showed Frank some pink blossom on one 
of the trees in the garden.  He gathered a large bunch, saying 
that he wished to decorate the schoolroom with it.  He did 
not wish it put in water but asked Mrs. I. to decorate the room. 
   24.3.25.  Martin, on his arrival at school, had brought 
Mrs. I. what he called "a lavender bush", a piece of twig 
with some leaves on it. 
   24.4.25.  Harold gathered a large bunch of flowers from 
the garden, and put them into water, to take home to his 
mother at the end of the day. 
   29.4.25.  Paul, Theobald, Dan, Frank and Harold gathered 
flowers, and Dan ran round the garden with the flowers, 
saying, "Anyone want some flowers?", over and over again. 
   30.4.25.  Paul gathered a large bunch of flowers for his 
mother, and put them in water. 
   4.5.25.  In the morning all the children gathered flowers, 
Priscilla helping Miss B. to gather some for the schoolroom, 
the others tying them up with raffia and taking them home. 
   13.5.25.  Harold and Paul brought Mrs. I. a bunch of 
flowers they had gathered themselves from the garden at home. 
   18.5.25.  Frank gathered a large bunch of iris flowers from 
the garden. 
   21.5.25.  Theobald began to gather flower-blossom, etc., 
for his parents, who had come to visit the school, and gave 
them each some. 
   25.5.25.  Harold, Paul and Dan gathered flowers from the 
garden and walked about shouting, "Does anyone want some 
flowers , Anyone want some flowers?",  with great zest. 
   18.6.25.  Christopher asked Mrs. I. to pluck a rose for 
him and said, "I'll give it to Dan, and then he'll come to 
tea with me". 
   26.6.25.  Miss B. had gathered some roses and put them 
in the schoolroom.  Harold saw Mrs. I. smelling them and 
remarked, "They do smell nice, don't they?" 
   19.10.25.  Christopher, Priscilla and Tommy wanted to 
give little gifts of flowers, etc., to the maids through the kitchen 
window, and asked Mrs. I. to lift them up to do this, which 
they did several times. 
   29.10.25.  The children decorated the schoolroom with long 
pieces of virginia creeper. 
   31.10.25.  Frank brought a bunch of everlasting flowers 
from home, saying that they "would not die", and asked 
Mrs. I. to hang them up on the cross-beams.  The children
all helped to do this. 
   16.11.25.  Frank gathered violets from his garden. 
 
YEAR 1925-6.  Children quoted, and ages on 1.10.25: 

   Frank (5;11), Priscilla (6;1), Jessica (3;0), Alfred (3;9), 
Herbert (2;6), Dexter (4;3), Dan (4;4), Tommy (3;7), 
Phineas (2;7). 
   21.1.26.  The children found the yellow jasmine out on the 
wall, and gathered some for the schoolroom. 
   28.1.26.  Jessica and Tommy gathered snowdrops for Mrs. 
I. and told her to put them into her garden. 
   2.2.26.  Jessica brought a bunch of flowers to school, and 
put them in a jar in the schoolroom. 
Frank and Priscilla said they were going to be married 
and Frank asked for the flowers out of the schoolroom vase 
for when Priscilla was married (The children often had 
weddings and the bride always carried a bunch of 
flowers as a decoration.) 
   8.2.26.  `Jessica gathered jasmine flowers and snowdrops. 
   8.3.26.  Tommy gathered fallen almond blossoms and gave 
them to the other children. 
   22.4.26.  Phineas had refused to go out in the garden with 
the others, and sat at the top of the school steps.  Miss B. 
went in to talk to him several times, and on the last occasion 
she had some flowers in her hand which he saw and wanted. 
She suggested that he should come and pluck some more, 
whereupon he came out into the garden and gathered a bunch 
of flowers.  He asked for some string to have them tied up 
in a bunch, and took them home. 
   23.4.26.  Some of the children gathered apple blossom, 
Herbert and Alfred making great efforts to gather it for a 
visitor who was present.  They stood on the long garden seat 
and used a long pole to try to drag the blossom down. 
   30.4.26.  Tommy gave Phineas a bunch of flowers from 
his own garden. which delighted Phineas, who took them 
home. 
   Alfred and Herbert looked at the flowers and gathered them. 
They tried to gather the blossom by standing on the long 
garden bench and hitting it with a long pole.  When they got 
small pieces down they stuck them into a hole in the lawn, 
saying they were making a garden 
   4.5.26.  Tommy gathered flowers from his garden and gave 
bunches to several of the children, to their great pleasure. 
   4.6.26.  Dexter and Mrs. I. gathered flowers together, he 
putting them in a jar. and saying he would take them upstairs 
to the room that he "shares" with Dan, i.e., the rest room.  
He asked Dan where he should put the jar of flowers, and 
Dan told him not to leave them on the floor under the window, 
in case they got knocked over, but to put them inside one of 
the cupboards.  Dexter did this very meekly, insisting, how-
ever, on leaving the door open so that the flowers could "get 
some air".  
   18.6.26.  Jessica often brings Mrs. I. presents of flowers 
and leaves.  

YEAR 1926-7.  Children quoted, and ages on 1.10.26: 

   Phineas (3;7), Lena (3;9).  Alice (2;4).  

   25.2.27.  Phineas noticed the flowers, saying, "Aren't they 
pretty", and,  "They are looking out of the window".  
   8.3.27.  Phineas said he wanted some more "blue daisies", 
and Lena picked two from her garden for him.  
   28.4.27.  Alice went and asked Mrs. I. in a most charming 
way to go for a walk with her, and took her hand.  Then 
she said, "Shall we pick some daisies?"  Mrs. I. could 
not see any daisies, but went where Alice led; she went 
straight across the lawn to a small patch of daisies at the other 
end.  She had evidently seen them the day before.  She 
picked a few and asked Mrs. I. to pick some.  When Mr. X.  
came up to her she gave them to him.  
 
 
                   B.  INTEREST IN ANIMALS 

   The different incidents are grouped as; 1, Active Interest.  
2, Phantasy.  3, Cruelty.  4, Tenderness.  5, Fear.  

1.  Active Interest.  

YEAR 1924-5.  Children quoted, and ages on 1.10.24: 

   Dan (3;4), Frank (4;11), Harold (4;8), Paul (3;6), Tommy 
(2;7), Christopher (4;0), Theobald (4;7), George (4;1), Priscilla 
(5;1), Duncan (6;5), Robert (4;6).  
   7.10.24.  Robert found a spider in its web in a corner of 
a shed.  Several of the children ran to look at it.  Dan was 
also interested, but refused to come nearer to it than several 
feet.  He showed definite signs of fear, shivering as he looked 
at it.  On several later occasions, this mixture of interest and 
fear was shown; only gradually was the fear sufficiently 
overcome by suggestion and encouragement for him to come 
close and look at it.  
   24.11.24.  In the garden the children found a small dead 
rat, and spoke of it as a "mouse".  They said, "It's 
dead", and ran about holding it.  Mrs. I. took it away for 
fear of infection.  Dan said, "You won't hurt it, will you?" 
Mrs. I. took it to the other end of the garden, and hid it.  Dan 
asked her, "Where have you put if -- you've not hurt it, 
have you?" 
   16.2.25.  Another dead rat was found in the garden; the
children looked at it, and talked about it very interestedly.  
They helped Mrs. I. to bury it.  
   In digging, Frank found a worm, and he and Dan cut it 
into pieces with the spade, and stamped on it.  Paul remarked, 
"It's dead now".  
   21.4.25.  Harold and Paul brought Mrs. I. some shells 
which they had gathered at the seaside during the holiday.  
They were very eager to talk about them, spreading them out, 
and telling her where they had gathered them.  One of the 
other children suggested that they should put them into water, 
and they did so, in a large shallow bowl.  There was some 
seaweed with them, and Harold said that it would "tell you 
when it's going to rain -- and tell you the time".  When 
this seaweed was put into the water and made wet, Harold 
said, "Now it will rain -- the seaweed is wet".  The other 
children played with the shells in the water, shook them about, 
held them in their hands, getting quite excited over it.  They 
found they could "crack" the seaweed, and all enjoyed 
doing this.  During the next few days, the shells were often 
looked at and talked about.  The children noted the different 
shapes, naming them "snail shells", and "purse shells".  
Harold spoke of the black mussel shells, which, he said, 
"grew in a dirty place".  Paul spoke of one as a "little 
baby shell".  The children opened some of the bi-valves, 
saying, "there'll be a fish inside".  
   Christopher and Dan finding worms showed great interest 
in them, calling Mrs. I. to come and look at them.  Frank 
put a worm into a cup of water.  
   23.4.25.  The children found a slug, and Theobald said, 
"Put it in water".  They did so.  
   27.4.25.  Mrs. I. and the children had prepared a hutch 
for a hen, and this afternoon the hen and a sitting of eggs 
arrived.  The children were very interested.  Frank, having 
fowls at home, already understood that the hen would hatch 
chicks out of the egg, but the others did not.  Dan asked 
wether they were "the same eggs as we eat?"  They 
watched the man make a nest with straw in the coop, and 
arrange the eggs and put the hen on -- and listened to his 
instructions about feeding, etc.  In the following days, the 
children helped to put food and water for the hen, and often 
talked about the eggs.  
  27.4.25.  George told the children and grown-ups to-day 
how he had "been for a walk in a wood", and how he had 
"seen a real live snake from the Zoo -- and Daddy hit it with 
his stick, and killed it, and put it in a ditch".  
   28.4.25.  All the children watched the hen picking up her 
corn, and talked about her cackle.  
   29.4.25.  Priscilla does not understand about the hatching 
of eggs, and asked to-day why they put the eggs under the 
hen.  One of the others asked whether "the chicks will come 
out of the cock?"  (i.e., the hen.) 
   5.5.25.  A rabbit had arrived during the week-end, and 
the children fed it to-day, and took turns at stroking it.  
   The children found a wire-worm in the garden, and with 
Mrs. I. compared it with an earthworm.  They modelled both 
kinds of worm later on.  
   They had all noticed the feelers of the wire-worm, but only 
Frank had seen that it had legs.  
   6.5.25.  After they had helped to feed the rabbit and the 
hen, the children felt the warmth of the eggs, and Frank said 
he would like to see the inside of one.  They cracked one 
into a cup, and the children saw the embryonic blood-vessels 
with great interest.  
   8.5.25.  The hen has deserted her eggs, and so the children 
each cracked one, to see what it was like inside.  After talking 
about the blood-vessels which they could see, they stirred the 
egg up and said, "It's scrambled egg".  
   11.5.25.  Again they cracked some of the deserted eggs and 
were able to pick out the embryo -- the children saying, "It's 
a chicken".  Then they beat the eggs up.  Tommy put an 
empty egg-shell on the fire in a tin, saying, "I'm cooking 
an egg".  
   Harold found another dead rat in the garden.  He and Frank 
stamped on it, but Dan said, "Don't hurt it".  Harold then 
said, "Shall we bury it?"  and all joined in doing so.  Frank 
asked, "Will that make it come alive again?"  And another 
child said, "Does the rat not like it?" 
   13.5.25.  The children fed the rabbit, and Mrs. I. held it 
outside the hutch while Miss B. swept the hutch.  The children 
fed it with dandelion leaves, talking to it and stroking it.  
Later on, when it was in its hutch, Priscilla and Frank picked 
it up by its ears -- they had been told that one should do so.  
Mrs. I. corrected this.  
   Harold found a woodlouse which curled itself up into a ball, 
and he and some of the others held it on their hands until 
it uncurled.  They noted its many legs, its feelers, and the 
way it walked about.  Frank said, "Let's put it into water", 
and they put it into a bowl, then saying.  "Let's find other 
animals to put into water".  They collected several snails, 
a worm and two "devils' coach-horses", and tried to pick 
up some small ants which they found.  Frank watched how 
the snails crawled up out of the water.  
   14.5;25.  Frank brought a gold-fish in a glass bowl to 
school, to keep there.  He came running in -- "Look what 
I have brought for the boys".  The children discussed it 
and the amount of food it should have.  Frank said it should 
have "a pinch of ant's eggs.  like a pinch of salt".  Dan 
said, "Is it the gold-fish that we eat?  I've eaten one".  
The others laughed at this.  
   The children found more snails and "devils' coach- 
horses", and put them into water.  The snails put their 
horns out and swam, and the children counted the horns.  
    15.5.25.  The children again gathered snails and put them 
in water.  
   18.5.25.  When modelling, Frank asked Mrs. I. to model 
a jar for the gold-fish.  When she had done so, he put the 
fish in it with water.  Dan tried to get hold of the fish, and 
said "it tickles".  Presently Frank said, "Oh, it's dying", 
and ran to put fresh water in the glass jar and transfer it.  
Duncan said, "Yes, it's dying because it's poisoned with 
the plasticine".  (No sign of any harm.) 
   20.5.25.  The children found a piece of sheep's jawbone 
with some teeth.  They recognised that they were teeth, but 
did not know the animal.  Duncan said, "Perhaps it's a 
horse, and perhaps a tiger.  I've seen a tiger's bones in 
Cambridge, with all the flesh off".  
   21.5.25.  Mrs. I. asked Theobald if he would help her lift 
the broody hen off her eggs.  He did so, and then Frank, 
Tommy and Dan came too.  They asked why Mrs. I. put 
a board to keep her off the eggs, and were very interested 
when she told them that the hen would not eat unless she 
was kept off the eggs for a time.  After twenty minutes 
Theobald came to help Mrs. I. remove the board so that 
the hen could go back.  The children fed the rabbit with 
dandelion leaves, and showed the animal to the visitors.  
   8.6.25.  The chickens had hatched during the week-end, 
and there was great interest and excitement when the children 
saw them.  They watched them at intervals throughout the 
morning, and were very anxious to make the hen get off so 
that they could see them.  
   When later the children went to feed the chickens, they 
found that one of them had died in the nest, probably having 
been trodden on by the hen.  Dan saw this and at once said,
"Oh, it's dead".  He was very concerned, and took it to 
one of the maids to ask her to "put it in water to keep it". 
   18.6.25.  The children let the rabbit out to run about the 
garden for the first time, to their great delight.  They followed 
him about, stroked him, and talked about his fur, his shape, 
and his ways.  
   22.6.25.  Duncan overturned some of the large stones in 
the rockery, and the children found woodlice, both "the flat 
kind" and "the kind that rolls up".  They picked some 
of each up, and compared them.  
   23.6.25.  The puppy came into the garden, and the children 
carried him about and laughed at him when he ran.  They 
were very delighted.  
   26.6.25.  A few days ago the children had noticed the large 
yellow and green caterpillars on a mullein plant.  To-day 
the children and Mrs. I. gathered some, and put them in 
boxes.  Frank helped to make holes in the lids, and remarked 
that "they would die if we didn't do that". 
   29.6.25.  Theobald returned after being away for some 
weeks.  He was delighted with the rabbits and chickens, and
spent a long time watching them, making affectionate and 
admiring remarks, and playing with them.  
   8.7.25.  The children looked at the caterpillars in the tin 
boxes, and noticed that those which had been put into boxes 
without any holes were dead.  They gathered more cater- 
pillars, and put them into boxes, with leaves.  George was 
very interested, and spoke of the size, colour, etc.  One 
had begun to turn into a chrysalis, and the children said, 
"Oh, it's dead". 
   13.7.25.  Some of the children called out that the rabbit 
was ill and dying.  They found it in the summer-house, 
hardly able to move.  They were very sorry, and talked much 
about it.  They shut it up in the hutch and gave it warm 
milk.  Throughout the morning they kept looking at it; they 
thought it was getting better, and said it was "not dying 
to-day". 
   14.7.25.  The rabbit had died in the night.  Dan found 
it and said.  "It's dead -- its tummy does not move up and 
down now".  Paul said, "My daddy says that if we 
put it into water, it will get alive again".  Mrs. I. said 
"Shall we do so and see?"  They put it into a bath of 
water.  Some of them said, "It is alive".  Duncan said, 
"If it floats, it's dead, and if it sinks, it's alive".  It floated 
on the surface.  One of them said, "It's alive, because it's 
moving".  This was a circular movement, due to the currents 
in the water.  Mrs. I. therefore put in a small stick which 
also moved round and round, and they agreed that the stick 
was not alive.  They then suggested that they should bury 
the rabbit, and all helped to dig a hole and bury it 
   Later on, seeing the puppy lying on the glass in the sun, 
Duncan called out for fun, "Oh, the puppy's dead!"  All 
the children went to see it, and laughed heartily when the 
puppy got up and ran at them.  
   15.7.25.  Frank and Duncan talked of digging the rabbit 
up -- but Frank said, "It's not there -- it's gone up to the 
sky".  They began to dig, but tired of it, and ran off 
to something else.  Later they came back, and dug again.  
Duncan, however, said, "Don't bother -- it's gone -- it's up 
in the sky", and gave up digging.  Mrs. I. therefore said, 
"Shall we see if it's there?"  and also dug.  They found 
the rabbit, and were very interested to see it s there.  
Duncan said, "Shall we cut its head off?"  They re- 
buried it. 
 
YEAR 1925-6.  Children quoted, and ages on 1.10.25: 

Priscilla (6:1), Dan (4;4), Tommy (3;7), Frank (5:11), 
Christopher (5;0), Dexter (4;3), Alfred (3;9), Herbert (2;6), 
Phineas (2;7), Jessica (3;0), Penelope (4;1).  

   23.10.25.  Priscilla and Dan found a small snail in the
garden, and noticed the spiral shape of the shell.  Mrs. I. 
and the children drew it on the blackboard, and modelled it, 
the children then drawing it on paper.  Then Mrs. I. drew 
a spiral on the floor for them to walk on, and they ran 
along the line, going inwards and then outwards, for about 
half-an-hour.  
   18.11.25.  Watching the dog, they saw him make water 
and pass faeces, and all laughed and commented on it.  
Tommy said, "He passed faeces".  
   24.11.25.  Mrs. I. took a cocoanut to school, to hang up 
for the tits.  The children handled it, talked about it, shook 
it, and could hear what they called the "water" inside it.  
They made a hole in it with a hammer and a nail, poured 
the contents out into cups, and drank it.  They then tried 
to saw it open, but got impatient with the slowness of this 
method, and brought a chopper and helped to chop it open.  
The children wanted to eat the cocoanut, and had a small 
piece each.  They then, on Mrs.  I.'s suggestion, put a string 
in the hole in each half, and hung them up in the trees.  In 
looking at the cocoanut, Frank had spoken of its "eyes", 
and this led Dan to ask, "Is it alive?" 
   25.11.25.  Mrs. I. took a large glass bowl to the children, 
in which to make a wormery.  They dug and brought in 
bucketfuls of soil, and a number of worms they found, putting 
decaying leaves on the top.  (All this was Mrs.  I.'s sugges- 
tion, but had arisen from the children's talk about the worms 
they found when digging to put bulbs in.) In digging for 
the worms today, they turned up the place where they had 
buried the dead rabbit in the summer.  The children talked 
of the rabbit, and tried to find it.  Frank said, "It will have 
gone to heaven now".  They could not find it, perhaps 
because the dog had been digging there some days earlier.  
Mrs. I. suggested this reason to the children.  
   30.11.25.  To-day, Frank and Priscilla looked at the 
wormery, and noticed that some of the leaves had been pulled 
down into the soil.  
   4.12.25.  The children watched the tits on the cocoanut, 
through the window, with great delight.  
   29.3.26.  Tommy watched a large spider which was in the 
wormery, and then took it outside on the end of a stick.  The 
children all examined it.  At first they wanted to hurt it, but 
Mrs. I. would not allow this.  They then watched it as it 
crawled all over her arms.  They asked, "Does it hurt?" 
She said, "No, it tickles".  Then they asked, "Would 
you let it crawl on your face?"  She said, "Oh, yes". 
Presently their timidity disappeared, and Tommy and 
Priscilla let it crawl on their hands.  They then looked at 
it through the lens.  When Mrs. I. put it back into the 
wormery, Tommy took it up again on his hand.  
   14.4.26.  Priscilla was talking of "baby bees" and how 
they came.  She asked, "Do they lay eggs and how do they
get out of the eggs?  Have they got a beak to break it 
with?" 
   27.4.26.  Tommy collected snails in the garden, putting 
seven large ones into a box, and spending nearly an hour 
watching them, pushing them back into the box when they 
crawled up the sides.  He took them home with him, putting 
grass in the box with them.  
   17.5.26.  While sewing in the afternoon, Priscilla told 
Mrs. I. and the children that she had "seen a bull", while 
on the way to school.  Dan said, "A bull?  What's a 
bull?"  Priscilla said, "A he-cow". Dan: "But isn't 
a cow a he?"  Priscilla and Mrs. I. said, "No".  They 
spoke of he and she animals, and Mrs. I. gave them the 
terms "male" and "female".  They instanced the males 
and females among the children in school, the mammies and 
daddies and other grown-ups they knew.  Then Dan said, 
"What do you call it when there's a he-and-a-her, a she- 
and-a-him together?"  Mrs. I. was not quite sure what he 
referred to, but said.  "Do you mean when they are together 
in the same room?"  He said, "When they are touching". 
She touched his hand, and said, "Do you mean like this?
We haven't one word to refer to this; we say, he and she 
are touching".  He said, with a shy look and hesitation, 
"No, I mean when they are very close together, standing 
up".  The conversation was broken off at this point by the 
arrival of a visitor.  
   3.6.26.  Christopher, Dan, Priscilla and Dexter spent 
nearly an hour looking at the bones of the human skeleton, 
putting them together, comparing them with their own bodies, 
and looking at a book of diagrams.  Dan said several times, 
"I'll show you -- I know better than you -- I do it every 
night with my daddy".  He put his feet in the position of 
the two halves of the diagram of the leg, one pointing back- 
wards and one forwards.  The children said of one diagram, 
"It's a man with his skin off".  Dan said, "Oh, I would 
like to see a man with his skin off, alive, walking about, and 
then I could watch what happened and see the blood".  They 
noted the veins in each other's wrists and temples, and looked 
at the diagrams of the muscles, blood-vessels, organs, etc.  
   9.6.26.  Alfred and Herbert spent a long time watching 
the mice, and making them run up and downstairs in their 
boxes.  
   10.6.26.  Alfred, Herbert and Phineas watched the rabbits, 
and fed them with green stuff.  When the cabbage leaves 
were finished, Alfred asked, "What kind of leaves are 
those?"  and when Mrs. I. told him, he walked about the 
garden for more leaves like them.  Later on, he and Phineas 
gathered grass to feed the rabbits with.  
   14.6.26.  During the week-end, the cat had knocked over 
a cage of mice, and the daddy mouse was dead.  The 
children looked at it, and spoke of its teeth, tail and fur. 
Mrs. I. then said, "Should we look inside it?"  They 
agreed eagerly, and she dissected it in a bath of formalin.  
Dan, Jessica, Christopher and Priscilla watched with eager 
and sustained interest.  They shuddered when the knife cut 
into the skin, but comforted themselves with the thought that 
it was dead.  They saw the guts, kidneys, liver, heart, ribs, 
backbone, airpipe, foodpipe and stomach, brain, inside of 
eye, inside of mouth, and tongue.  Christopher asked to see 
"the thinking part".  They asked Mrs. I. to cut open the 
gut to show the feces.  Later, the children spent some time 
watching the silkworms and caterpillars, and feeding the 
rabbit.  
   17.6.26.  When passing a fish-shop yesterday the children 
had noticed the crabs and lobsters, and Mrs. I. had said to 
them, "Shall I get one so that you can look inside?"  They 
had said eagerly, "Yes".  This morning she took along 
three crabs and some dissecting instruments.  They examined 
the crabs, talked about the various parts, found the mouth 
and eyes, counted the number of legs, and noticed that in 
some cases the legs were short of one or two joints.  They 
lifted up the tail piece, and noticed the difference between 
male and female.  They put their fingers into the claws, and 
had Mrs. I. try to pinch them with the claws.  They then 
began to open up the crabs, using the knives and forceps 
without any help, except in the case of Dan, whose crab 
seemed to require more pressure.  They continued with this 
for half-an-hour or so, objecting a little to the smell of the 
crabs.  They found the flesh of the crab inside, called it 
"meat", and apparently presumed that it was what the 
crab had eaten, not part of the crab.  Dan found a small 
triangular piece of flesh, called it "fish", and said, "It's 
what the crab had for his dinner".  In the afternoon, they 
put the pieces of crab into the jars of formalin Mrs. I. had 
provided, and spent a long time examining the parts again.  
Mrs. I. asked Dan if he had found a backbone in the crab, 
and he replied "No", with some surprise and interest.  
   The children had found a small toad in the garden, and 
they spent a long time watching it, holding it, and making it 
walk.  The younger children were particularly interested in 
it, Jessica and Alfred spending a long time with it.  
   18.6.26.  To-day the children found that the toad was 
dead, and Jessica asked Mrs. I. to wash it and put it in 
formalin.  Mrs. I. asked the older children if they would 
look inside it later, and they agreed.  
   Priscilla said to-day that she "wanted to go on with her 
crab", and she and Dan and Christopher took out their crabs 
and dissected them further.  Presently Dan said, "I've found 
the backbone", and showed Mrs. I. the inner side of the 
ventral shell, which does look rather like the sacral portion 
of the human backbone.  They looked at it again, and saw 
that it was the inner side of the shell.  The children took
several of the legs off, and pulled the various joints apart.  
They got most of the flesh out of the inside, again calling 
it "meat".
   They then dramatised the dissection, saying it was "a 
man" whose inside they were looking at.  They said, "We're 
putting him to sleep", giving it a little knock with the lid 
of the jar.  "Now we're going to do something to him", 
and then presently they "woke him up".  They also showed 
Mrs. I. one of the cartilages, calling it a "bone". 
   21.6.26.  Priscilla noticed that the toad had been opened 
and pinned out -- Dan and Christopher had done it on the 
Sunday, with Dan's father.  The two boys did not seem to 
want to go on with it, but Priscilla was very interested, and 
said she would like to do it with Mrs. I.  Dan then came 
and showed her the insect they had found in the toad's guts, 
and which they had inferred was "its dinner".  Priscilla 
and Mrs. I. then cut open the gut further, and saw the faeces.  
Priscilla opened the mouth, and she examined the tongue 
and the back of the throat.  
   The children had earlier discovered that the cockchafer 
which they had found yesterday now seemed to be dead, and 
Priscilla wanted to "look inside" it.  When, however, the 
children and Mrs. I. came to examine it further, they found 
that it still moved, and the children therefore said, "It isn't 
dead".
   25.6.26.  The children found a young robin standing in 
the path.  Priscilla said, "It's a robin".  It was fully 
fledged and able to fly, but not very strong.  The children all 
watched it, and asked Mrs. I. to catch it so that they could 
look at it more closely.  She made an attempt to do so, but 
did not succeed.  The children then spread some crumbs 
down, hoping that the robin would come back to them.  
Afterwards they all became "robin birds", and hopped and 
flew, asking Mrs. I. to catch them.  
   29.6.26.  A new lot of mice arrived this morning, and the 
children helped Mrs. I. to sort them out into male and female, 
putting one of each into each box, and feeding them.  
   1.7.26.  The children played a family game, of new-born 
babies.  Priscilla asked, "Where are babies born -- how do 
they come out?"  Dan at once replied, "They come out 
of the vulva -- here!"  with the appropriate demonstrative 
gesture.  Priscilla was clearly shy about it -- Jessica and 
Christopher were listening attentively, but said nothing.  
   There was some difficulty in cleaning the cage of one of 
the female mice, as she bites in her terror.  Mrs. I. put on 
gloves to hold her, and the children stood by and talked with 
Mrs. I. about this.  They spoke of how the mouse was "going 
to have some babies", and that they would leave her in a 
quiet place by herself.  
   2.7.26.  Christopher and Dan were cycling round the 
garden, and stopped by the potato patch which Mrs. I. was
weeding, to talk to her.  They then found a piece of "cuckoo 
spit", and began to look at it closely.  With Mrs. I. they 
found the aphis in the middle of it, and the children then 
looked for more "spit" and found the insect each time.  
They asked where the "spit" came from.  Then they found 
another beetle, and Mrs. I. suggested finding as many different 
sorts as they could.  The two boys and Priscilla entered 
eagerly into this, and found several sorts of flies, beetles and 
aphides, which they then tried to name from a book.  
   8.7.26.  When feeding and cleaning the mice today, the 
children noted that one or two of the females had grown very 
fat, and could hardly get through their holes into the open 
part of the cage.  They spoke of this, and the elder ones said, 
"Perhaps they're going to have some babies".  Mrs. I. took 
the males away from these females, and put them into separate 
boxes.  One female mouse which had been alone seemed to 
be frightened when a male was put with her, squealing and 
trying to get out of the cage.  The children watched this, 
and asked why.  
   After school, Dan said to his mother, "You're going 
to have another baby".  She replied, "Am I? I didn't 
know I was!"  "Yes, your tummy is fat, and when ladies 
have fat tummies, it means that they are going to have a 
baby." 
   9.7.26.  This morning, the children and Mrs. I. found two 
families of mice born, eight or ten in each lot.  The children 
watched these, and handled them a little.  They saw that the 
eyes were not open, and the skin was hairless.  Christopher 
said, "They look like little pigs".  Later in the morning, 
they saw the babies "hanging on to the mother", and 
asked why.  When Mrs. I. returned the question, Priscilla 
said, "They're probably drinking milk".  
   20.7.26.  Having far too many mice now, Mrs. I. chloro- 
formed a family of young ones.  When they were dead, she 
showed them to the elder children, and asked whether they 
wanted to "look inside".  Christopher, Dan and Priscilla 
dissected one each.  They all began by cutting the nose off.  
Priscilla again had some qualms at the beginning, and wanted 
to be assured that they were "not hurting them".  She also 
said, "You wouldn't do this to us, would you?"  While 
dissecting, Priscilla and Dan carried on a play of "mother" 
and "doctor", with the dead mice as children.  They pre.  
tended to telephone to each other about it, saying, "Your 
child is better now", and so on.  Priscilla telephoned to 
Dan, "Your child is cut in two".  Dan replied, "Well, 
the best thing to do would be to put the two halves together 
again".  There were many inquiries and answers as to 
whether it was "better", and that it would "be better 
again soon", and so on.  Presently Dan said, "Now I'm 
going to put some water on it, and make it come alive again". 
Priscilla joined in this.  It was clear that for Dan this was 
pure play and phantasy -- not a belief that it could come alive 
again.  Priscilla gave Mrs. I. a dead mouse to hold, and said, 
"Now it is alive again ", and pretended to make it walk.  
Mrs. I. said, "Is it?  Dan: "Well, we are only pre- 
tending".  All three showed a little excitement about the 
cutting, but it soon passed, and a period of observation, mixed 
up with this humanised dramatic play, followed.  Christopher, 
however, did not join in this phantasy, but kept on steadily 
dissecting and talking about it.  There was much free and 
sensible talk among them all.  Presently Dan and Christopher 
left the others, but Priscilla wanted to go on and do more 
with Mrs. I.  Together they dissected more carefully the 
mother mouse.  Priscilla saw all the larger organs, and they 
straightened out the gut so as to see the full length of it.  She 
asked whether we have a long gut like that and Mrs. I. 
told her "Ours is about ten yards long, or more".  She 
then asked, "Have we got everything the mouse has?" 
Mrs. I. said, "Yes, except the tail!"  which amused her.  
(Her mother reported that on going home to-day, Priscilla 
said to her, "Do you know, mummie, when I was inside 
you, besides me there was about ten yards of gut all folded 
up together inside you!") 
   22.7.26.  The children found today that if they took the 
baby mice out of the inner box in the cage, the mother carried 
them all back in her mouth.  They noticed how quickly the 
mice were growing.  
   In the afternoon, Christopher, Dan and Penelope dissected 
snails with Mrs. I.  They were able to cut the shell off com- 
pletely, so that they saw the flesh coiled up as it had been 
inside the shell.  They saw the stomach and mouth of the 
snail, and noticed the green mashed-up food in the stomach.  
Dan said, "What do they eat?"  and presently Christopher 
remembered that he had seen them "eating plants".  
 
YEAR 1927.  Children quoted, and ages on 1.10.26: 

   Priscilla (7;1), Christopher (6;0), Jessica (4;0), Lena (3;9), 
Phineas (3;7), Jane (10;5), Conrad (5;9), Dan (5;4), Alfred 
(4;9), Alice (2;4), James (4;6).  

   6.10.26.  Priscilla found a dead moth in a box in which 
several caterpillars had been put in July and tried to "set" 
it on cork.  She found its chrysalis case, and loose hairs 
which had come off the cocoon.  She and Christopher felt 
how strong the silk was, and spoke of it "keeping the 
chrysalis warm".  
   12.10.26.  Mrs. I. and the children had cleared out the 
glass jar which had been the wormery, and filling it with
water a day or two ago they put in some water-snails and 
weeds.  Today some of the children (Jessica, Lena and 
Phineas) asked why the snails were in the water -- evidently 
thinking of them as the same as the more familiar garden 
snails.  
   28.10.26.  Tommy made a present of some of the rabbits' 
faeces to a lady visitor in the school.  
   31.10.26 (Sunday).  Dan telephoned Mrs. I. early in the 
morning to tell her that one of the rabbits was dead.  He 
asked her if she knew what it had died of.  She asked, "Have 
you fed it every day?"  and he replied, "Not every day we 
forgot sometimes".  He then said,  "We want to cut it up", 
and Mrs. I. said, "All right, shall I come over later?"  She 
went to tea, and the children at once said eagerly, "Let's 
cut the rabbit up".  They went outside, brought it in in a 
sack, and took it upstairs to the laboratory.  They put the 
rabbit on the table under the light, and Jane and Dan and 
Conrad waited.  Mrs. I. did not initiate anything, and they 
sat there quietly for a few moments then Conrad and Dan 
said, "What are we waiting for? Do let's begin".  Mrs. I. 
then said, "What are you waiting for?  What are we 
going to do?"  Dan then asked her if she would divide 
the rabbit, showing her the portions which he wanted to have, 
and which she was to give to the other two.  She agreed 
to do this, but as soon as she began to cut into the fur they 
saw how difficult it was to get into this.  Mrs. I. suggested 
that she should take the skin off first.  They agreed that 
it would be useful, watching with great eagerness, making 
remarks on the fur, the colour of the inside of the skin 
noticing, for example, that the inside of the skin was coloured 
the same as the fur, with black and white patches, etc.  
They also at once remarked on the fact that there was an 
inner skin which remained when the fur skin had been taken 
off.  Jane noticed the veins on the inner skin and the silvery 
tendons visible in the forearm and wrist.  Jane and Conrad 
were moved emotionally by this their first experience of 
"looking inside"; they expressed some disgust and excite- 
ment, whereas Dan showed only a steady intellectual interest.  
Presently Dan joined in the skinning, helping to take some 
of the skin off the head and the forearms, while Conrad tried 
to cut off the tail.  They were amused at the fur remaining 
on the four paws, and referred to them as "gloves" and 
"Russian boots".  Dan said once or twice, "You wouldn't 
do that if it was alive, would you? Poor Pamela (the name 
they had given to this rabbit), you are sure it doesn't hurt 
her?"  at which Jane laughed, and said, "Of course not, she 
is dead". When the skin was off, Mrs. I. said, "Shall I 
cut up the front so that we can see the inside?"  They 
said, "Yes, do"; and she did so, laying bare the organs of 
the abdomen, and presently by cutting through the breast- 
bone to those of the thorax, they saw the food pipe and
spoke of it, and presently the stomach, the kidneys, the 
heart, the lungs, the liver, etc.  They asked her to get out 
the eyes.  Dan had an eye and the heart in his dish to 
examine, and the others had other parts.  They then said, 
"Let's cut up the stomach".  When they got it open they 
found it was full of undigested food, and Jane said at once, 
"Then it could not have died of starvation, as it has food 
in its stomach".  They cut open the food pipe at various
places:  the children noticed that in one part it was very 
wide, and in the lower end near the anus it was very narrow.  
They remarked how in this lower end the faeces was already 
formed into the small balls in which it passed out into the 
anus:  they noticed this, and Dan said, "Could she pass 
water?"  Jane said, "Of course not, because she is dead: 
she could when she was alive", and then added, "She 
passed faeces:  she always did four at a time".  Mrs. I. 
noticed that they always referred to the rabbit as she 
and she said to them, "How did you know that it was a 
she?"  Dan said, "It was -- Noel said so".  Mrs. I. said, 
"I wonder how he knew? I wonder whether he had looked 
and seen the vulva".  The children said, "Can we see it?" 
This was after the rabbit was skinned, and it was very 
difficult to decide what sex it was.  Mrs. I. said that she 
could not tell which it was, but it seemed to her to look rather 
more like male than a female.  Dan's first response to this 
question had been an indignant assertions of Noel's opinion,
but he at once accepted the reference to the facts.  Presently 
the children noticed the bones, touched them, the backbone, 
the leg bones, shoulder and head.  This led them to say, 
"Let's look at the skeleton" (that is, the human skeleton).  
It was not in the room, and they rushed out to look for it, 
Dan saying he knew where it was.  They found, however, 
that it was not in its usual place, all the bedrooms having 
been moved about owing to the decorations being carried out.  
They hunted for it for some time, and rushed with tremendous 
eagerness downstairs, saying, "Oh, we must find the bones.  
We must find them".  They enlisted the service of all the 
adults till it was found, and brought it back in triumph.  
Jane and Conrad had not seen it before; Dan showed them 
how it fitted together, and Conrad said, "I know, let's make 
the skull and cross-bones", and they arranged the skull and 
two leg bones in this form.  They then turned to the diagram 
book of the human organs, and spent a long time looking 
at these, tracing out the various organs, and making com- 
parisons between the rabbit and the human being.  The whole 
of this work was sustained with great zest and uninterrupted 
attention for over one hour and a half.  Dan, however, said, 
"I am tired of this.  Let's go down".  Jane, however, 
continued her work, being particularly interested in the 
diagrams of human organs, and more particularly perhaps 
the bladder.  Mrs. I. agreed that she and the children should
do some more with the rabbit to-morrow as it was now time 
to leave.  
   1.11.26.  Dan told Lena as soon as she arrived about the 
death of the rabbit.  Dan and Jane told Mrs. I. that Pat, 
the companion to the one which had died, was now much 
better.  She asked, "Is he fatter?" as he had been extremely 
thin.  "Yes".  Mrs. I. said, "I wonder what has made 
the difference?"  They said, "Perhaps Pamela (the other 
rabbit) ate all the food and he got none".  They showed 
Mrs. I. how much turnip he had eaten in the morning.  They 
fed the other rabbits and helped to clean the hutches.  Later 
they put away into jars of formalin the parts of the rabbit 
dissected yesterday.  When doing this, they noticed for the 
first time the gall bladder tucked away inside the liver, and 
asked, "What is that?"  Mrs. I. gave them the name 
"gall bladder", and they said, "Let's cut it open and see 
what's inside".  Jane said, "Oh, it's water!" as the 
watery-looking fluid ran out.  
   9.11.26.  Dan and Conrad dictated a letter to a grown-up 
to-day, to the Zoo, asking "the people at the Zoo to let 
them have any dead animals they had, to cut them up".  
   10.11.26.  Jane and Dan showed Miss D. the bones of the 
human skeleton, naming head, hip, backbone, hand and foot.  
Dan asked Jane how to distinguish between hand and foot; 
Jane replied that the ankle bones would be heavier than the 
wrist, and Dan agreed that they would have to be.  They 
then showed Miss D. the dissected rabbit, and talked of the 
various parts.  Miss D.  asked whether it was a "he" or 
"she".  Jane said, "We thought a `she' until we cut 
it up, then we found it to be a `he'".  Dan:  "It hadn't 
a vulva.  A `he' doesn't have a vulva, does it, Miss D.?" 
   12.11.26.  After dark, a bat flew into the schoolroom; the 
children were eagerly interested, and kept very still so that 
it would settle.  It finally settled on a beam, and looked 
about; they saw its face, but not very distinctly.  Conrad 
wondered if it would get into the light, get on fire, and set 
the school on fire.  
   14.11.26.  Dan asked to-day whether there had been any 
reply from the Zoo, and as there had not yet been, whether 
they should write again.  (A reply was received later, to the 
effect that the Zoo usually cut up its own dead animals, but 
that if they ever bad any to spare, they would send some.) 
   15.11.26.  Dan said several times during the morning that 
he wanted to look again at the parts of the rabbit, and he, 
Jane, Conrad and Mrs. I. went upstairs for that purpose.  
The children looked at the diagrams of human organs first, 
noticing their position, placing the food-pipe, and so on.  They 
noticed the diagram showing the layers of the skull opening 
to show the brain, and Mrs. I. then said, "Shall we look 
inside the skull of the rabbit?"  and they assented eagerly.  
They cut it open with scissors, and the children looked at the
brain inside.  They then looked at the inside of the body 
cavity, noticing the lungs, and the air-pipes dividing into two 
to enter the lungs.  They cut the air-pipe across, and Dan 
poked the scissors down into the opening.  Jane then asked 
to look at the tongue, and they cut that out.  Then the children 
themselves cut open the kidneys and looked inside.  Jane 
was surprised at what she saw; she had expected to find food 
in the kidneys.  They then traced the backbone both on the 
outer and inner sides.  Later on, on Mrs. I.'s suggestion, 
they boiled the bones of the rabbit, to get the flesh off.  The 
children asked several times, "Is it done yet?"  and were 
surprised to find how long it took to get the flesh soft enough.  
The rest of the rabbit having begin to smell rather strongly, 
Mrs. I. suggested burning it, and they burnt up the skin.  
The children said it smelt "like burning hair".  Later,  
they interested themselves again in the human skeleton.  Dan 
calls the socket for the thigh-bone, "the twist hole". Dan 
said as he was holding the backbone, "It can't have been a 
man or a woman -- it must have been a boy or girl, because 
it isn't long enough for a man or a woman".  Mrs. I. sug- 
gested he should measure it against her backbone, and he 
did so, placing the whole thing in position.  They decided 
that it was too short for anyone Mrs. I.'s height.  Dan then 
measured it against Jane's back, but agreed that it was much 
too long for her.  Jane then said, "It was probably someone 
about fourteen to fifteen years of age".  Two visitors arrived 
then, and the children showed them what they had been 
doing, going through the whole argument again with them.  
One of the visitors said, "Perhaps when the person was 
alive, there was something between the bones".  Jane said, 
"Oh, yes, the muscles".  Jane then handled the skull.  
She decided that it was not bone that the teeth were fixed 
into, but something else.  She resisted Mrs. I.'s suggestion 
that it was bone, saying that it "looked like something else" 
to her.  She noticed the spongy texture of the bones of the 
skull, and remarked that some of the teeth were decayed 
and some not present.  She returned to examine the folding 
diagram of the human organs several times during the morn- 
ing, and presently asked Mrs. I. where the appendix was.  
They found it in the diagram.  
   19.11.26.  To-day the children dissected further the rabbit 
which had been boiled for some hours yesterday.  They took 
the flesh off as far as possible, but decided that it would be 
better to boil it still longer.  Jane asked, when she began to 
dissect the foreleg, whether there were two bones or one, and 
answered the question herself by the dissection.  During this 
dissection they spoke of it being "the rabbits' hospital", 
Jane joining in this quite as much as the younger children.  
   22.11.26.  Miss B. had brought to school one of her own 
mice which had developed a large swelling, and died.  The 
children were very eager to cut it up and see what was inside
the swelling.  They suggested that Mrs. I. should do the 
actual cutting up, as there was only one mouse, and seven 
or eight children wanted to see it -- and some of them had 
scratches on their hands.  The mouse had been dead two 
days, but had been kept in formalin.  The children sat round 
and watched Mrs. I. open it up.  The elder children's interest 
was concentrated on the tumour.  They found that it was a 
skin tumour, having no connection with the internal organs.  
The children asked Mrs. I. to cut the tumour to see what 
was inside; they could not (with the naked eye) see anything 
in it but blood.  Phineas had not before seen the others cut 
dead animals up, and was puzzled.  He has no clear idea 
of death, and asked several times, "Why are you killing 
it?"  The other children laughed and assured him that 
Mrs. I. was not doing so -- that it was dead.  Presently he 
said, "Is it dead -- nearly?"  Again the others laughed 
and corrected him.  He then asked, "Why has it got that 
lump?"  And again several time, "How did it die?  Has 
it got that because it's dead?"  Priscilla laughed and said, 
"It died because it had the lump, but Phineas said the other 
way round, didn't he?"  Jessica, as on a previous occasion 
when she watched a dissection, sat watching very intently, 
but made no comment of any kind.  Lena seems to have a 
clear idea of death, and was interested more in the structure.  
The elder children identified the organs.  Conrad wanted 
Mrs. I. to cut the head off, and presently to cut it open to 
see the brain inside.  Afterwards, the children talked about 
the living mice they had had in the summer.  (The mice 
could not be kept during the vacation.)  Conrad and Jane 
had never seen mice at close quarters, and asked whether 
they couldn't have some more now.  Dan asked Mrs. I. to 
find the old mouse cage, and when she did so, took charge 
of it with eager anticipation of having more.  Priscilla has 
some at home, and she told the others that her first lot of 
babies had now themselves had babies, and promised to 
bring some to school when they were old enough.  
   6.12.26.  The children found some woodlice under the bark 
of a log, and Conrad called out, "Look, there are the eggs". 
They gathered the eggs, and lice of different sizes, and put 
them into the insect cage with pieces of bark.  During the 
morning they often went back to look at the lice under the 
bark.  Jane and Priscilla expressed disgust and would not 
touch them, but the younger children all did so, and Phineas 
was especially thrilled by them.  
   9.12.26.  Dan and Conrad were delighted to watch the 
cat, when they were bathing at bedtime, sit on the edge of 
the bath and try to catch the drips from the tap with his paw.  
   10.11.26.  Jane spent some time again to-day examining 
the human skeleton in detail, talking about the various parts, 
fitting them together, making out where the various muscles 
would be attached, etc.  At Mrs. I.'s suggestion she made a
drawing of the thigh bone.  In her first attempt she got the 
bone much too short for its width, but made another drawing 
and got this right.  She labelled the hip and knee ends.  
   In the evening, Jane and Dan had a "rabbit hospital". 
They put the small rabbit in a tub filled with straw.  Dan 
put a little sand on the rabbit's back, saying, "It will hurt 
him very very much, but it will take out all the pains 
he's got".  Another treatment given to all the rabbits was 
"Flash-bomb" -- flashes from an electric torch.  Dan said, 
"Let's pretend this rabbit's dead -- we can bury him in here 
(in the straw), and then pretend he's another rabbit that's 
come".  This was done.  
   14.12.26.  Again today Jane and Priscilla looked at the 
human bones, particularly the skull, comparing them with 
their own.  They then looked at the backbone, spoke of the 
muscles, looked at the muscles in their own arms, noticed the 
tendons at the wrist and elbow, feeling these with their fingers.  
Priscilla told Mrs. I. and the children that she could see her 
Daddy's muscles very plainly, much more plainly than her 
own.  Mrs. I. asked, "What about your Mummy's?" 
"No, you can't see those so plainly -- they're rounder and 
softer."  Mrs. I. told her that this was because the female 
had more fat covering the muscles.  Jane and she followed 
this up in talk for a time.  
   19.1.27.  One of the rabbits had had five young ones 
during the holiday, four of which had been found dead.  The 
children looked for the one which was supposed to be alive, 
but could not at first find it.  After a time they found it 
hidden away in a nest made of straw and of fur from 
the mother's breast.  They took it out and looked at it, and 
noticed that it was like its mother, although darker, and that 
its eyes were not yet open.  Mrs. I. and the children decided 
to take the daddy rabbit away so that he should not hurt 
the baby, and Jane, Priscilla and Mrs. I. mended an 
old hutch, putting a new door on -- the children doing the 
measuring, and some of the sawing and nailing.  
   21.1.27.  The children had put another rabbit in the same 
hutch as Pat, and the two had fought fiercely.  There was 
therefore a discussion as to whether the rabbit called Pat 
were male or female, and Priscilla said, "Why don't you 
look?"  They did so, and decided it was a male.  There 
was some talk about the mother rabbit having more babies, 
and Jane said they would have to put the daddy with her.  
Priscilla said, "Why?"  and Jane replied, "If you don't 
she won't have any more babies". 
   24.1.27.  The children found the young rabbit lying outside 
the hutch dead.  They found that it had some wounds in its 
head, and decided that it must have been killed, either by 
a cat or a rat.  Jane said, "Shall we cut it up?"  and 
Mrs. I. replied, "If you wish to".  
   Later in the day, however, they announced that they had
decided not to cut it up, but to bury it instead.  Priscilla 
said, "It's so pretty, we don't want to cut it up, we want 
to keep it".  They buried it in a hole, and nailed together 
two pieces of wood in the form of a cross, to put over it, 
writing on this, "To Whiskers, child of Benjie and Bernard.  
Born. . . . Killed. . .  . ".  
   25.1.27.  Priscilla brought some mice from her stock to 
school to-day.  The children fed them, and spent a long time 
watching them, particularly the two that went round in a 
wheel cage.  When Phineas saw them he called out with vast 
delight, "Oh, look at the little baby rabbit". 
   27.1.27.  Mrs. I. and the children found one of the mice 
dead to-day -- probably from underfeeding.  The children were 
grieved, and decided as they had with the young rabbit, that 
they would bury it, not cut it up.  They put a stick up in the 
shape of a T, in the spot where they buried it.  
   31.1.27.  The children told Mrs. I. that, jointly with a boy 
friend, outside the school, they had formed a "Zoological 
Club".  They had each a book in which to record their 
observations of the different animals -- a rabbit book and a 
mouse book.  They showed Mrs. I. the rules of the club, 
which were three:  (1) No animal belonging to the club is 
to be teased.  (2) The animals are to be fed every day.  (3) 
The animals are to be kept clean.  They told Mrs. I. they 
had measured the distance that one of the mice could jump, 
and it was a foot.  
   1.2.27.  Jane asked Miss D. to tell Mrs. I. that the previous 
evening, when they had had the mice out of the cage, one 
of them had been killed by having a brick fall on it.  Jane 
was very distressed and could not bear to tell Mrs. I. herself.  
They had wrapped it up in a piece of paper, and showed 
Mrs. I. the blood on its nose -- they all repeated the sad tale 
to her, about how it had happened.  They said they were 
not going to cut it up, but to bury it -- though there was 
more hesitation about this than on the last occasion.  
   During the morning, Jonathan the cat brought in first 
one, then another dead sparrow from the garden.  The 
children and Mrs. I. talked of whether he had killed them 
or found them dead, but could not tell which.  Some of the 
children wanted to cut them up, although Dan said, "Let's 
bury them".  The opinion in favour of cutting up prevailed, 
and Mrs. I. did so.  They asked her to open the mouth, 
and saw the tongue.  Priscilla asked, "Hasn't it any teeth? 
No, it hasn't.  Why hasn't it?"  They counted the number 
of its toes, and saw the way these clung round one's fingers.  
They noticed the difference between the feathers on the breast 
and the wing feathers.  Mrs. I. then cut open the abdomen 
and breast.  Jane noticed with great surprise the thickness of 
the wing muscles on the breast, and then she and Priscilla 
said, "But of course it needs big muscles to fly with".  
They then saw how long the breast bone was, and how much 
more difficult it was to get at the heart, lungs, etc. inside,
than it had been in the case of the mouse.  Mrs. I. and the 
children found the heart and liver, wind-pipe and food-pipe, 
the opening of the wind-pipe in the base of the tongue, and 
the external opening of the food-pipe.  They noticed the very 
thick walls of the stomach.  Before Mrs. I. began to cut it, 
they asked, "Has it got a penis?"  and when she said, 
"No, it's a female sparrow", they said, "How do you 
know?"  She told them about the colours of the feathers.  
They looked at these closely, and asked what the male would 
be like.  Mrs. I. described the black collar, and brighter 
general colours.  She then found an ovary in the bird, and 
when the children asked what it was, and she told them it 
was "what made the eggs", and they saw how the eggs 
would be passed down the food-pipe, Jane said, "It will 
have to swell, then, won't it?" 
   Priscilla then suggested looking again at the parts of the 
dissected rabbit, and they got them out of the formalin.  The 
children named the parts as they were brought out.  Jane 
cut the liver open, saying in surprise, "Oh, it's all liver 
inside the liver, isn't it?"  meaning that it was not hollow.  
Mrs. I. said, "Look more closely at it and see".  Jane 
then saw that it was spongy and full of small holes and 
found also the gall bladder attached to it.  Mrs. I. cut open 
the eye, and the children saw the black retina, and were 
able to look through the opening of the pupil from the inside.  
With Mrs. I. they compared this with their own pupils, and 
they saw that the pupil is simply an opening through which 
one looks, in the case of another person, on to the black 
curtain at the back.  They then found the lens, and Mrs. I. 
gave them the name.  Jane said, `"Oh, I know about the 
lens in a camera", and Mrs. I. replied, "Yes, the eye is made 
very much like a camera".  Jane asked what the retina was 
for, and Mrs. I. compared it to the sensitive plate, and the eye- 
lid to one of the shutters.  The children saw also the end of 
the wind-pipe in the rabbit's mouth, and the other end where 
it had been cut off above the lung -- this with a piece of the 
wind-pipe attached.  Dan did not join in the cutting up of 
the rabbit, but while he typed kept looking over and listening 
and joining in the conversation.  
   9.2.27.  During the morning Miss C. told the children that 
she thought that two of the rabbits had had more babies, 
and she could see two dead.  Mrs. I. and the children 
went to look, and there were two evidently just born, lying 
out of the box on the floor of the shed.  It looked as if 
they had been injured.  In the nest-box there were six more, 
all dead, but these did not show any apparent injury.  Mrs. I. 
and the children agreed that perhaps they had died of the 
cold.  The children were very grieved, and when they thought 
that perhaps the father had killed the babies, they said, "If 
he does that we will kill him -- horrid Bernard!"  They 
noted the fur the mother had torn from her breast to keep
the babies warm.  The children and Mrs. I. brought the dead 
rabbits out and buried them.  The children said, "Let's 
take the father away altogether so that he can't do that".  
Jane remarked, "But then we shouldn't have any more 
babies.  Let's take him away soon". 
   11.2.27.  Later in the day, the children spent an hour 
playing "Zoo".  One child was the keeper, one a lion, 
another a lioness (both in the same cage), and another a 
"Tigon".  Jane explained that this was a cross between a 
lion and a tiger.  The lioness presently had a baby.  Miss C.  
had to be a visitor at the Zoo, and at each of her visits 
something bad happened -- either there was a new baby, or 
the last one bad died, or the lion had been put in a separate 
cage because of the new baby.  (These children had all been 
to the real Zoo in the holidays.) 
   16.2.27.  Conrad now has some mice of his own, and this 
morning he invited Phineas, as soon as the latter arrived, 
to see his baby mice, which are now big enough to walk 
out of their nest.  He invited each of the other children 
to look at them during the morning, and kept going to the box, 
himself.  
   19.2.27.  Phineas was cutting his orange, and said, "I'm 
killing the orange.  I'm cutting it-that is killing it, isn't it?" 
   21.3.27.  The children took two buckets to the Fens to-day.  
and brought back frog-spawn, snails and weeds, and water- 
shrimps.  
   25.3.27.  To-day they found a caddis-worm in a Fen pond.  
and brought it to one of the school aquaria, each of the elder 
children now having one.  
   31.3.27.  The children got fresh water to-day in pails from 
the river, cleaned out their aquaria, and put some stones in 
them for the tadpoles to use when they come out of the 
water (in case this happened during the holiday).  
   26.4.27.  Alfred showed Mrs. I. and the children an empty 
cage, pointing out the two holes for the mice to come through 
from the inner to the outer part of the cage.  He then took 
a mouse from another cage, and put it into this one, explaining 
the affair to Phineas, and watching for it to come through 
the hole.  
   29.4.27-.  Alice went to watch the rabbits, and brought 
grass and leaves for them to eat.  She told the rabbits, 
"Don't bite my fingers". 
   2.5.27.  Jane discovered to-day that the mother rabbit had 
some more babies.  She was very pleased and excited -- the 
expression on her face was very gentle, and she was quick 
to think what should be done.  She took the male rabbit 
from the hutch and put him in another, and gathered green 
stuff for the mother.  She and the others talked of whether 
the hutch was thick enough to keep the babies warm, so 
that they should not die of cold as the others had done.  She 
stole back several times to peep at the babies, but was most 
careful not to disturb them.  
   3.5.27.  The children found two birds' nests in the garden, 
one of which seemed to be deserted, as the eggs were quite 
cold.  They took the eggs out, but broke them in lifting 
them.  
   8.5.27.  The children spent the morning cleaning and 
feeding the rabbits, mice, silkworms, etc.  Today some eggs 
which were to be put under the sitting hen arrived.  James 
asked several times whether the eggs could be eaten after 
the chickens had come out.  Miss C.  said, "What do you 
think?"  and after pressing for an answer, he volunteered, 
"When the chickens come out, the shells will he broken". 
Miss C.  said, "Will there be anything left in the egg then?" 
"No."  "Then will you be able to eat them?"  "Of 
course not, because there won't be anything to eat", adding, 
" They're the same eggs as the eggs we eat, aren't they?" 
   26.4 to 20.5.27.  Much time has been spent in feeding and 
cleaning the rabbits, and the children have delighted in the 
family of young rabbits which have this time been successfully 
reared.  The older children put themselves in charge of these 
young rabbits, insisting that the smaller children should not 
disturb them in the early days.  They have also watched and 
cared for the hen on the eggs, and the families of mice.  
   23.5.27.  The children found two of the young rabbits 
dead; they had apparently got out of the open wire of the 
cage.  They were very troubled about it, but no one suggested 
"looking inside" the dead animals.  One of the younger 
children suggested that the rabbits had been asleep when they 
died.  The elder ones remarked in the afternoon that one of 
the dead rabbits was wet, and Priscilla, after whispering and 
laughing with Conrad, said, "It passed water when it was 
dying".
   3.6.27.  A few days ago, Mrs. I. took a whole calf's head 
to school.  Dan, Conrad, Priscilla and Jane interested them- 
selves in it, looking closely at the eyes, ears, skin, inside of 
mouth, and so on.  They tried to cut through the skin, but 
found it very tough.  Today, as Jane had suggested cutting 
it open to see the brain, Mrs. I. took a hack-saw, and she 
and Jane bi-sected the head.  It took a long time, and they 
had to rest occasionally, and go back to it; but Jane's interest 
did not flag, and the others kept coming to see how they 
were getting on, and sometimes took a helping band.  Jane 
was at first surprised at the smallness of the brain, but 
then she said, "Well, of course, cows are not very intelli- 
gent, are they?  You wouldn't really expect them to have 
a big brain".  After a time, she volunteered, "Then what 
about the Diplodocus!  That couldn't have been very intelli- 
gent, could it, if you look at the size of its head!"  (She had 
seen the skeleton of Diplodocus carnegii at S. Kensington a 
year or two earlier.) She looked at the folds of the brain, 
and the blood-vessels on the surface, traced the ear-passage 
in the skull, and dissected the eye to get out the lens and 
see the retina. 

2.  Phantasy. 

YEAR 1924-5.  Children quoted, and ages on 1.10.24:

    Harold (4;8), Frank (4;11), Paul (3;6) Duncan (6;5), Dan 
(3;4), Priscilla (5;1). 
    3.12.24.  A cock from the next-door garden came over the 
wall, and Harold and Frank chased it about rather excitedly 
until Mrs. I. intervened.  (Harold's mother reports that on 
going home he told her, "We chased a cock to-day, and 
killed it".  This was of course pure phantasy.) 
    16.2.25.  Paul ran into the schoolroom saying, "I am going 
to buy a polar bear now, for you boys.  When I get home, 
I'll go right out and get a polar bear -- a real one, not a toy 
one".
    21.4.25.  Harold and Paul had brought some shells from 
the sea-side, and the children were examining them and 
noticing the different shapes.  Paul spoke of one as "a 
little baby shell". 
    20.5.25.  The children found a piece of sheep's jawbone 
with some teeth.  They recognised that they were teeth, but 
did not know the animal.  Duncan said, "Perhaps it's a 
horse, and perhaps a tiger.  I've seen a tiger's bones in 
Cambridge, with all the flesh off".  Frank ran into the 
schoolroom with the jawbone in his hand, saying, "They're
tiger's teeth", and pretended to bite the others with them. 
    12.6.25.  Frank made a "nest" of hay for an artificial 
bird which Dan had brought. 
    15.6.25.  After bathing, Dan, Frank and Duncan ran about 
naked on all fours, as doggies.
    24.6.25.  After lunch, Dan, Duncan, Frank and Priscilla 
played a family game, with the puppy as the baby.
    26.6.25.  The children again played with the puppy as 
"the baby".
YEAR 1925-6.  Children quoted, and ages on 1.10.25 
    Tommy (3;7), Priscilla (6;1), Christopher (5;0), Dan (4;4) 
Alfred (3;9), Herbert (2;6). 
    18.2.26.  Tommy played with the cats, and gave them 
"buns" to eat. 
    11.3.26.  Tommy had brought to school a stuffed dog 
which he called "Teddy".  On the way he stopped to show 
it to a real dog; and in the garden, took it to show to the 
real dog Teddy, saying, "It's your friend". 
    23.3.26.  Dan pretended to be a crocodile pulling his 
mouth out at the side with his fingers -- a long ritualised play. 
Christopher and Priscilla made a bed for the crocodile, and 
kept him in their house.  Later Mrs. I. was "the keeper", 
and they bought him from her, but he would not stay with 
them as they did not give him enough to eat, nor food of 
the right kind, nor any water, and so on.  Each time they 
went out for a walk he ran away and came back to his 
keeper, making a loud noise with his mouth as if he were 
hungry.  He kept this play up, refusing to speak or behave 
as other than a crocodile, for a long time.  At cocoa time, 
the crocodile was given cocoa to drink. 
    9.6.26.  Alfred and Herbert spent a long time watching 
the mice, and making them run up and downstairs in their 
boxes.  When they were not successful in this, they called them 
"naughty mice", saying to Mrs. I., "Aren't they naughty 
mice?"  When she said, "Are they?" they replied, 
"They won't do what we want, so aren't they naughty?" 
    18.6.26.  After Priscilla, Christopher and Dan had been 
dissecting crabs, they dramatised the dissection, saying it was 
"a man" whose inside they were looking at.  They said, 
"We're putting him to sleep", giving it a little knock with 
the lid of the jar.  "Now we're going to do something to 
him", and then presently they "woke him up". 
    25.6.26.  After the children had found a young robin and 
had watched it for some time, they all became robin birds 
and hopped and flew, asking Mrs. I. to catch them. 
    8.7.26.  After school, Dan said to his mother, "You're 
going to have another baby".  She replied, "Am I?  I 
didn't know I was".  "Yes, your tummy is fat, and when 
ladies have fat tummies, it means that they are going to have 
a baby."
    20.7.26.  Christopher Dan and Priscilla each dissected a 
mouse.  While dissecting. Priscilla and Dan carried on a play 
of mother and doctor with the dead mice as children. 
They pretended to telephone to each other about it, saying, 
"Your child is better now" and so on.  Priscilla telephoned 
to Dan, "Your child is cut in two".  Dan replied, "Well, 
the best thing to do would be to put the two halves together 
again".  There were many inquiries and answers as to 
whether it was "better", and that it would "be better again 
soon", and so on.  Presently Dan said, "Now I'm going 
to put some water on it, and make it come alive again".  Priscilla 
joined
in this.  It was clear that for Dan this was 
pure play and phantasy -- not a belief that it would come 
alive again.  Priscilla gave Mrs. I. a dead mouse to hold, 
and said, "Now it is alive again", and pretended to make 
it walk.  Mrs. I. said, "Is it?"  "Well, we are only 
pretending."
  
YEAR 1926-7.  Children quoted, and ages on 1.10.26 

    Jane (10;5), Priscilla (7;1), Dan (5;4). 
    25.10.26.  The older children often carry the rabbits about 
as "babies", in their family plays, making temporary 
hutches for them in their "houses", and so on. 
    26.10.26.  Rabbits as "babies" again, carried about 
wrapped up in shawls, and put on see-saw. 
    27.10.26.  To-day the children wanted to carry the rabbits 
about, before they had had time to eat properly, and Mrs. I. 
stipulated for ten minutes for feeding first -- the children 
agreed to this, and kept watching the clock to see when the 
ten minutes was up.  They then continued the family play 
with the rabbits in the gallery. 
    19.11.26.  To-day the children, Jane, Dan and Priscilla, 
dissected further the rabbit which had been boiled for some 
hours yesterday.  During this dissection they spoke of it 
being "the rabbits' hospital", Jane joining in this quite as
much as the younger children. 
    10.12.26.  In the evening, Jane and Dan had a "rabbit 
hospital".  They put the small rabbit in a tub filled with 
straw.  Dan put a little sand on the rabbit's back, saying, 
"It will hurt him very very much, but it will take out all the 
pains, he's got".   Another treatment given to all the rabbits 
was "Flash-bomb" -- flashes from an electric torch.  Dan 
said, "Let's pretend this rabbit's dead -- we can bury him in 
here (in the straw), and then pretend he's another rabbit that's 
come".  This was done. 
    11.2.27. The children spent an hour playing "Zoo". 
One child was the keeper, one a lion, another a lioness (both 
in the same cage), and another a "Tigon".  Jane explained 
that this was a cross between a lion and a tiger.  The lioness 
presently had a baby.  Miss C. had to be a visitor at the Zoo, 
and at each of her visits something had happened -- either there 
was a new baby, or the last one had died, or the lion had been 
put in a separate cage because of the new baby.  (These 
children had all been to the real Zoo in the holidays.) 

3.  Cruelty. 

YEAR 1924-5.  Children quoted, and ages on 1.10.24: 

    Harold (4;8), Frank (4;11), Dan (3;4), Paul (3;6), Priscilla 
(5;1), Duncan (6;5), George (4;1). 
    3.12.24.  As on one or two other days, a cock from the 
next-door garden has come over the wall, and Harold and 
Frank chased it about rather excitedly until Mrs. I. intervened. 
(Harold's mother reports that on going home he told her, 
We chased a cock to-day and killed it".) (Pure phantasy.) 
    16.2.25.  Some of the children chased a cat which came 
into the garden.  In digging, Frank found a worm, and he 
and Dan cut it into pieces with the spade, and stamped on it. 
Paul remarked, "It's dead now". 
    18.3.25.  A small black cat came into the garden -- the 
children saw it and rushed to pick it up.  They were all fairly 
gentle and affectionate with it, taking turns to hug it and 
carry it about.  It got squeezed rather hard, but there were 
no signs of intentional hurting it.  Later on, however, when 
it came a second time, Harold did seem to want to hurt it.  
    21.4.25.  Christopher and Dan found some worms.  Paul 
wanted to kill them as soon as he saw them -- and Frank 
squashed some snails which Paul found on a wall. 
    11.5.25.  Harold found another dead rat in the garden. 
He and Frank stamped on it. 
    14.5.25.  The children found more snails and "devil's 
coach horses", and put them into water.  The snails put 
their horns out and swam, and the children counted the horns. 
Later on, Dan, Frank and Priscilla buried these snails in the 
sand-pit. 
    22.5.25.  When the children were changing the water of 
the goldfish, Frank had a sudden impulse of cruelty, and said 
to the others, "Shall we stamp on it?"  Mrs. I. did not 
imagine that they would really do this.  and when they ran 
out into the garden with it, she followed after them, but not 
quite quickly enough.  Before she could stop them, they had 
thrown the fish out into the sand and stamped on it.  They 
stood round and looked at it, rather excited, and obviously 
wishing they hadn't done it, and Frank said, "Now, let's 
put it into water, and then it'll come alive again".  They 
put it back into the water, but soon saw that it was dead, and 
later on they buried it in the sand.  All the children, including 
the instigator, Frank, were obviously full of regret at having 
done this, and a wish that they had the fish back again. 
(N.B. This was the only incident of its kind in the school.) 
    29.6.25.  Harold, Frank and Duncan threw the puppy into 
a bath of water, throwing it from some distance.  They 
laughed when it looked wet and miserable. They protested 
a little when Mrs. I. said they should only have him in the 
garden on condition they did not do this, but soon accepted it. 
    2.7.25. Dora and George spent some time feeding the 
rabbit, and scattering corn for the hen.  They did this on the 
path, and the hen and chickens came out to feed.  Frank 
joined the others to watch them, and then he and George 
walked down the path to the hen saying "shoo, shoo". 
Mrs. I. asked them not to disturb them when feeding, and Dora said to
them, "We might do that to you when you're 
having your dinner, and drive you away!" 
 
YEAR 1925-6.  Children quoted, and ages on 1.10.25 

    Priscilla (6;1), Dan (4;4). 
    26.1.26.  Mrs. I. found that Dan and Priscilla had cut a 
worm into, pieces with a saw.  They spoke of the blood and 
"inside". 
    18.2.26.  The children went into the garden.  Priscilla 
wanted to pull a worm into halves, and said she would marry 
the boy who did.  They all said they wanted to marry her. 
Dan eventually did pull the worm in halves.  Frank then 
pulled the rest of it apart; they were very excited about 
this.  (It should be noted how few instances of actual cruelty 
are recorded against Priscilla.  See p. 211.) 
    29.3.26.  Tommy watched a large spider which was in the 
wormery, and then took it outside on the end of a stick. 
The children all examined it.  At first they wanted to hurt it, 
but Mrs. l. would not allow this. 
 
YEAR 1926-7. 

    9.2.27.  During the morning Miss C. told the children that 
she thought that two of the rabbits had had more babies, 
and she could see two dead.  Mrs. I. and the children 
went to look, and there were two evidently just born, lying 
out of the box on the floor of the shed.  It looked as if they 
had been injured.  In the nest-box there were six more, all 
dead, but these did not show any apparent injury.  Mrs. I. 
and the children agreed that perhaps they had died of the 
cold.  The children were very grieved, and when they thought 
that perhaps the father had killed the babies, they said, "If 
he does that we will kill him -- horrid Bernard!"  
 
4.  Tenderness. 

YEAR 1924-5.  Children quoted, and ages on 1.10.24: 

    Dan (3;4), Tommy (2;7), Priscilla (5;1), Frank (4;11), 
Harold (4;8), Theobald (4;7), Duncan (6;5), Christopher 
(4;0), George (4;1). 
    24.11.24.  In the garden the children found a small dead 
rat, and spoke of it as a "mouse".  They said, "It's dead", 
and ran about holding it.  Mrs. I. took it away for fear of 
infection.  Dan said, "You won't hurt it, will you?"  She 
took it to the other end of the garden, and hid it.  Dan asked 
her, "Where have you put it -- you've not hurt it, have 
you?" 
    16.2.25.  Tommy carried a worm about for a long time -- 
he has no impulse to hurt them. 
    18.3.25.  A small black cat came into the garden -- the 
children saw it and rushed to pick it up.  They were all 
fairly gentle and affectionate with it, taking turns to hug it 
and carry it about.  It got squeezed rather hard, but there 
were no signs of intentional hurting. 
    27.4.25.  Mrs. I. and the children had prepared a hutch 
for a hen, and this afternoon the hen and a sitting of eggs 
arrived.  In the following days, the children helped to put 
food and water for the hen, and often talked about the eggs. 
    5.5.25.  A rabbit had arrived during the week-end, and 
the children fed it today, and took turns at stroking it. 
    11.5.25.  Harold found another dead rat in the garden. 
Dan said, "Don't hurt it". 
    13.5.25.  The children and Mrs. I. fed the rabbit, and 
Mrs. I. held it outside the hutch while Miss B. swept the 
hutch.  The children fed it with dandelion leaves, talking to 
it and stroking it. 
    13.5.25.  The children had found various insects and put 
them into a bowl of water.  Tommy protested that "these 
things don't live in water", and wanted to take them out. 
    14.5.25.  Tommy insisted on taking a worm out of water 
when the others put it in, saying, "They don't live in water -- 
they don't live in water!" 
   18.5.25.   When modelling, Frank asked Mrs. I. to model 
a jar for the goldfish.  When she had done so, he put the 
fish in it with water.  Dan tried to get hold of the fish, and 
said, "It tickles".  Presently Frank said, "Oh, it's dying", 
and ran to put fresh water in the glass for the fish. 
    21.5.25.  Mrs. I. asked Theobald if he would help her lift 
the broody hen off her eggs.  He did so, and then Frank, 
Tommy and Dan came too.  They asked why Mrs. I. put 
a board to keep her off the eggs, and were very interested 
when she told them that the hen would not eat unless she 
was kept off the eggs for a time.  After twenty minutes 
Theobald came to help Mrs. I. remove the board so that the 
hen could go back. 
    The children fed the rabbit with dandelion leaves, and 
showed the animals to the visitors. 
    25.5.25.  George and Theobald helped Mrs. I. feed the 
rabbit, and lift the hen off the eggs. 
    8.6.25.  The chickens had hatched during the weekend, 
and there was great interest and excitement when the children 
saw them.  When later they went to feed the chickens, they 
found that one of them had died in the nest, probably having 
been trodden on by the hen.  Dan saw this and at once said, 
"Oh, it's dead".  He was very concerned, and took it to 
one of the maids to ask her to "put it in water to keep it".
    10.6.25.  When feeding the rabbit and the chickens, Frank 
and Dan tried to get hold of a chicken.  Duncan succeeded 
in catching one, and held it in his hands for all the children 
to stroke. 
    16.6.25.  As each day now, the children helped to feed the 
chickens and rabbit, and several times during the day to catch 
the chickens which escaped through the wires.  They show 
practically no desire to hurt the chickens, but are gentle with 
them, and delight in holding and stroking them. 
    18.6.25.  Frank and Dan were stroking the rabbit, and it 
sat still and let them.  Christopher bent down to kiss it, but 
it suddenly ran away, and they all laughed.  Frank was quite 
gentle with it. 
    24.6.25.  The puppy and the kitten came into the garden 
the latter hid among the bushes, and the children tried to 
catch it.  When they got it, each child was eager to nurse it. 
They were quite gentle and friendly with it.  They have the 
rabbit out each morning now, run after it gently, and take 
turns at holding and stroking it. 
    26.6.25.  The children played with the rabbits and puppy, 
and helped Mrs. I. clean and feed them. 
    29.6.25.  Theobald returned after being away for some 
weeks.  He was delighted with the rabbits and chickens, and 
spent a long time watching them, making affectionate and 
admiring remarks, and playing with them. 
    When he had to go home, he asked if he could hold the 
little rabbit again, and showed it to his mother with great 
delight, talking to it very affectionately. 
    2.7.25.  Dora and George spent some time feeding the 
rabbit, and scattering corn for the hen.  They did this on 
the path, and the hen and chickens came out to feed.  Frank 
joined the others to watch them, and then he and George 
walked down the path to the hen saying, "shoo, shoo". 
Mrs. I. asked them not to disturb them when feeding, and 
Dora said to the others, "We might do that to you when you're 
having your dinner, and drive you away!" 
    13.7.25.  Some of the children called out that the rabbit 
was ill and dying.  They found it in the summer-house, hardly 
able to move.  They were very sorry. and talked much about 
it.  They shut it up in the hutch and gave it warm milk. 
Throughout the morning they kept looking at it; they thought 
it was getting better, and said it was "not dying today". 
    15.7.25.  Frank brought to the school a very small kitten -- 
having talked for several days of the kittens at home.  The 
children were delighted with it, and most charming to it. 
They all took turns at nursing it, carrying it to the house, 
and feeding it, all through the morning.  They put it in a 
basket, and fed it with milk. 
    16.7.25.  Frank brought another small kitten. Harold was 
specially affectionate to it, and spent half the morning nursing 
it.  He called it a "dear little kitten", and kept stroking it.  
Then he made a "little house" for it in one corner of the 
garden, put the kitten in this and sat by it. 
 
YEAR 1925-6. Children quoted, and ages on 1.10.25 
    Priscilla (6;1), Alfred (3;9), Phineas (2;7), Herbert (2;6). 
    4.6.26.  The children now had some silkworms hatching
out, and Priscilla brought some mulberry leaves for them, 
offering to do so every day.  She tends the silkworm she 
brought for Dan, and also a large woolly caterpillar she had 
brought to school, looking at it every day, and giving it 
fresh leaves. 
    10.6.26.  Alfred, Herbert and Phineas watched the rabbits, 
and fed them with green stuff. When the cabbage leaves were 
finished, Alfred asked, "What kind of leaves are those?" 
and when Mrs. I. told him, he walked about the garden for 
more leaves like them.  Later on, he and Phineas gathered 
grass to feed the rabbits with. 
    14.6.26.  The children spent some time watching the silk- 
worms and caterpillars, and feeding the rabbit. 
    29.6.26.  A new lot of mice arrived this morning, and the 
children helped Mrs. I. to sort them out into male and female, 
putting one of each into each box, and feeding them. 
    20.7.26.  Christopher, Dan and Priscilla each dissected a 
mouse.  Priscilla again had some qualms at the beginning, 
and wanted to be assured that they were "not hurting them". 
 
YEAR 1926-7.  Children quoted, and ages on 1.10.26; 

    Dan (5;4), Jane (10;5), Priscilla (7;1), Phineas (3;7), 
Alice (2;4). 
    31.10.26.  When Mrs. I. and Jane, Conrad and Dan were 
dissecting the dead rabbit, Dan said once or twice, "You 
wouldn't do that if it was alive, would you?  Poor Pamela 
(the name they had given to this rabbit), you are sure it 
doesn't hurt her?"  at which Jane laughed and said, "Of 
course not, she is dead". 
    1.11.26.  Dan and Jane told Mrs I. that Pat, the com- 
panion to the rabbit which had died, was now much better. 
Mrs. I. asked, "Is he fatter?"  as he had been extremely 
thin.  "Yes." Mrs. I. said, "I wonder what has made 
the difference?"  They said, "Perhaps Pamela (the other 
rabbit) ate all the food and he got none".  They showed 
Mrs. I. how much turnip he had eaten in the morning.  They 
fed the other rabbits and helped to clean the hutches out. 
    10.12.26.  In the evening, Jane and Dan had a "rabbit 
hospital".  They put the small rabbit in a tub filled with 
straw.  Dan put a little sand on the rabbit's back, saying, 
"It will hurt him very very much, but it will take out all 
the pains he's got".  Another treatment given to all the 
rabbits was "Flash-bomb" -- flashes from an electric torch. 
    19.1.27.  One of the rabbits had had five young ones during 
the holiday, four of which had been found dead.  The children 
looked for the one which was supposed to be alive, but could 
not at first find it.  After a time they found it hidden away in a nest
made of straw and of fur from the mother's breast. 
They took it out and looked at it, and noticed that it 
was like its mother, although darker, and that its eyes were 
not yet open.  Mrs. I. and the children decided to take the 
daddy rabbit away so that he should not hurt the baby, and 
Jane, Priscilla and Mrs. I. mended an old hutch, putting a 
new door on -- the children doing the measuring, and some 
of the sawing and nailing. 
    24.1.27.  The children found the young rabbit lying out- 
side the hutch dead.  They found that it had some wounds 
in its head, and decided that it must have been killed, either 
by a cat or a rat.  Jane said, "Shall we cut it up?"  and 
Mrs. I. replied, "If you wish to". Later in the day, how- 
ever, they, announced that they had decided not to cut it up, 
but to bury it instead.  Priscilla said, "It's so pretty, we 
don't want to cut it up, we want to keep it".  They buried 
it in a hole, and nailed together two pieces of wood 
in the form of a cross, to put over it, writing on this,
"To Whiskers, child of Benjie and Bernard.  Born . . .
Killed . . .".
    25.1.27.  Priscilla brought some mice from her stock to 
school today.  The children fed them, and spent a long time 
watching them, particularly the two that went round in a 
wheel cage.  When Phineas saw them he called out with vast 
delight, "Oh, look at the little baby rabbit".
    27.1.27.  Mrs. I. and the children found one of the mice 
dead to-day -- probably from underfeeding.  The children were 
grieved, and decided as they had with the young rabbit, that 
they would bury it, not cut it up.  They put a stick up in the 
shape of a T, on the spot where they buried it. 
    31.1.27.  The children told Mrs. I. that, jointly with a boy 
friend outside the school, they had formed a "Zoological 
Club".  They had each a book in which to record their 
observations of the different animals -- a rabbit book and a 
mouse book.  They showed Mrs. I. the rules of the club, 
which were three:  (1) No animal belonging to the club is 
to be teased.  (2) The animals are to be fed every day. 
(3) The animals are to be kept clean. 
    1.2.27. Jane asked Miss D. to tell Mrs. I. that the previous 
evening, when they had had the mice out of the cage, one of 
them had been killed by having a brick fall on it.  Jane 
was very distressed and could not bear to tell Mrs. I. herself. 
They had wrapped it up in a piece of paper, and showed 
Mrs. I. the blood on its nose -- they all repeated the sad tale 
to her, about how it had happened.  They said they were 
not going to cut it up, but to bury it -- though there was more 
hesitation about this than on the last occasion. 
    9.2.27.  During the morning Miss C. told the children that 
she thought that two of the rabbits had had more babies, 
and she could see two dead.  Mrs. I. and the children went 
to look, and there were two evidently just born, lying out of the box 
on
the floor of the shed.  It looked as if they had 
been injured.  In the nest-box there were six more, all dead, 
but these did not show any apparent injury.  Mrs. I. and 
the children agreed that perhaps they had died of the cold. 
The children were very grieved, and when they thought that 
perhaps the father had killed the babies, they said, "If he 
does that we will kill him -- horrid Bernard!"  They noted 
the fur the mother had torn from her breast to keep the babies 
warm.  The children and Mrs. I. brought the dead babies 
out and buried them.  The children said, "Let's take the 
father away altogether so that he can't do that".  Jane 
remarked, "But then we shouldn't have any more babies. 
Let's take him away soon".
   29.4.27.  Alice went to watch the rabbits, and brought 
grass and leaves for them to eat.  She told the rabbits, "Don't 
bite my fingers". 
   2.5.27.  Jane discovered to-day that the mother rabbit had 
some more babies.  She was very pleased and excited -- the 
expression on her face was very gentle, and she was quick 
to think what should be done.  She took the male rabbit 
from the hutch and put him in another, and gathered green 
stuff for the mother.  She and the others talked of whether 
the hutch was thick enough to keep the babies warm, so that 
they should not die of cold as the others had done.  She stole 
back several times to peep at the babies, but was most careful 
not to disturb them. 
   8.5.27.  The children spent the morning cleaning and 
feeding the rabbits, mice, silkworms, etc. 
   23.5.27.  The children found two of the young rabbits 
dead; they had apparently got out of the open wire of the 
cage.  They were very troubled about it, but no one suggested 
"looking inside the dead animals".  One of the younger 
children suggested that the rabbit had been asleep when it died. 

   CRUELTY AND TENDERNESS IN THE SAME CHILDREN. 

 

Duncan.                          Priscilla 

   Cruelty.      Tenderness.          Cruelty.    Tenderness. 

 Date.    Age.  Date.     Age.    Date.    Age.   Date.  Age. 

29.6.25   7.1   10.6.25   7.0    14.5.25   5.9   13.5.25   5.9  

                                 26.1.26   6.5   4.6.26   6.10 

                                 18.2.26   6.6   14.6.26  6.10 

                                                 20.7.26  6.10 

                                                 1.1.27   7.5  

                                                 24.1.27   7.5  
                                                 31.1.27   7.5  


212       INTELLECTUAL GROWTH IN YOUNG CHILDREN 
 
FRANK.                           HAROLD.
   Cruelty.       Tenderness.         Cruelty.    Tenderness.
 Date.    Age.   Date.    Age.    Date.    Age.   Date. Age.
 
3.12.24   5.1    13.5.25  5.6    3.12.24   4.11   16.7.25 5.6 
16.2.25   5.3    18.5.25  5.6    18.3.25   5.2 
22.4.25   5.5    10.6.25  5.7    15.5.25   5.4 
15.5.25   5.6    18.6.25  5.7    29.6.25   5.5 
14.5.25   5.6    15.7.25  5.8 
22.5.25   5.6 
29.6.25   5.8 
2.7.25    5.8 
 
GEORGE.                          DAN. 
27.4.25   4.8    25.5.25  4.9    16.2.25   3.9    24.11.24 3.6 
2.7.25    4.10   2.7.25   4.10   14.5.25   4.0    11.5.25  3.11 
                                 26.1.26   4.8   8.6.25   4.0 
                                                 10.6.25  4.0 
                                                 18.6.25  4.1 
                                                 14.6.26  5.1 
                                                 31.10.26 5.5 
                                                 1.11.26  5.5 
                                                 10.12.26 5.7 
                                                 31.1.27  5.8 
 

   It should be noted that by no means all the instances of 
"tenderness" occurring are recorded, in the case of any of 
these children. I have quoted only a few of the more dramatic 
and specific moments of tender feeling, but beyond these there 
was in general a background of practical care and lively 
protective interest in the animals which would be very 
monotonous to quote. 
 
5.  Fear. 

YEAR 1924-5.  Children quoted, and ages on 1.10.24: 

   Dan (3;4), Priscilla (5;1). 
   7.10.24.  Robert found a spider in its web in a corner of 
a shed.  Several of the children ran to look at it.  Dan was 
also interested, but refused to come nearer to it than several 
feet.  He showed definite signs of fear, shivering as he looked 
at it.  On several later occasions, this mixture of interest and 
fear was shown; only gradually was the fear sufficiently 
overcome by suggestion and encouragement for him to come 
close and look at it. 
   22.6.25.  Duncan overturned some of the large stones in 
the rockery, and the children found woodlice, both "the flat 
kind" and "the kind that rolls up".  They picked some 
of each up, and compared them.  Priscilla would not let Dan 
go near them, saying, "Oh, don't -- they're nasty -- they'll 
bite". 
 
YEAR 1925-6.  Children quoted, and ages on 1.10.25

   Tommy (3;7), Priscilla (6;1), Herbert (2;6). 
   29.3.26.  Tommy watched a large spider which was in the 
wormery, and then took it outside on the end of a stick.  The 
children all examined it.  At first they wanted to hurt it, but 
Mrs. I. would not allow this.  They then watched it as it 
crawled all over her arms.  The asked "Does it hurt?" 
She said, "No, it tickles".  They then asked, "Would 
you let it crawl on your face?"  She said, "Oh, yes". 
Presently their timidity disappeared, and Tommy and Priscilla 
let it crawl on their hands.  They then looked at it through 
the lens.  When Mrs.  I. put it back into the wormery, Tommy 
took it up again on his hand. 
   24.6.26.   Herbert was carrying out from the schoolroom to 
the summer-house a pile of boxes, and just as he was at the 
entrance to the summer-house, one of the children found a 
spider and called out with eager interest, "Look, there's a 
spider".  Herbert was paralysed with fear for a moment, 
then saw the spider, dropped the pile of boxes, and rushed 
to the other side of the summer-house and then to Mrs. I., 
first flushing and then going very pale.  He was in a paroxysm 
of fear, and would not go near the place where the spider 
was until she had removed it.  The other children reassured 
him, (a) that it would not hurt him, and (b) that Mrs. I. had 
taken it away.  He did not recover from his fear for some 
time, and would not pass the place where the spider had been 
without constant reassurance, asking all the time, "Where 
is it?" 
 
YEAR 1926-7.  Children quoted, and ages on 1.10.26: 
   Jane (10;5).  Priscilla (7;1). 
   6.12.26.  The children found some woodlice under the bark 
of a log, and Conrad called out, "Look, there are the eggs". 
They gathered the eggs and lice of different sizes, and put 
them into the insect cage with pieces of bark.  During the 
morning they often went back to look at the lice under the 
bark.  Jane and Priscilla expressed disgust and would not 
touch them, but the younger children all did so, and Phineas 
was especially thrilled by them. 

                        CHAPTER SEVEN 
 
                      FOUR SAMPLE WEEKS 

First Week, May 4-8, 1925. 
 
Ages of children mentioned, on May 4th, 5925 
   Frank (5;6), Tommy (3;2), Harold (5;4), Paul (4;5), 
Christopher (4;7), Theobald (5;2), Priscilla (5;9), Dan (3;11), 
George (4;8), Duncan (7;0). 
   May 4.  A rabbit had arrived during the week-end, and 
all the children went out to see it as soon as they came. 
They were very interested, and shouted with delight when 
the rabbit stood up on his hind paws and put his nose to the 
railings.  Each boy in turn went into the wire enclosure with 
Mrs. I., to stroke the rabbit.  Priscilla, Frank and Christopher 
were very gentle but when Harold went in, Frank called 
out, "Hurt him", and Harold would have done so if Mrs. I. 
had not prevented it.  They talked of taking him out and 
"chasing" him; but soon they were helping Mrs. I. to feed 
him and give him fresh straw.  They noticed the rabbit's 
feces in the box, and said, "It's the rabbit's lavatory". 
Then they all went to look at the hen, and Harold kicked over 
a piece of the wire netting, making a hole but helped to 
fasten the wire up again.  The children asked if they could 
go in and look at the eggs, and each did so in turn.  Harold 
fed the hen, Priscilla brought fresh water; Frank wanted to 
put the dish of water in the hut, but as Priscilla had brought 
it and wanted to put it in, Mrs. I. did not let him.  He was 
very cross. 
   (Priscilla has only been in the school a few days, and is 
the first and only girl.  The boys were hostile to her at first, 
half playfully, half seriously.  Her mother told Mrs. I. that 
she was not very eager to come to school this morning, and 
she looked a little nervous when she arrived, and Frank ran 
to her, saying, "Shall we hurt Priscilla?"  But after this, 
they were all quite friendly to her to-day.  On the Saturday 
previous, after her first three days in the school, Priscilla had 
played with her dolls the whole day, talking to them and 
telling them about everything that had happened in the school.) 
   Mrs. I. gave the children some yellow and some white 
plasticine, colours they had not had before.  They all brought 
their chairs to the table in the summer-house, and sat down 
to model for a time.  Theobald was hostile to Christopher 
this morning, and Harold joined in this.  They laughed at 
his American pronunciation of "blossom", and when Mrs. I. 
left them for a moment, they hit him and made him cry. 
But this mood soon passed off. 
   Harold modelled a large engine, asking Mrs. I. to "make 
the cab".  Dan then did the same.  Priscilla and Mrs. I. 
modelled a tree in the garden with white blossom on 
it.  In order to see whether Priscilla would be particularly 
interested, Mrs. I. then modelled a bed with a white blanket, 
and a baby in it.  But Frank and the other boys showed 
more active and spontaneous interest in this than Priscilla 
did -- probably because of her feeling generally subdued. 
   Miss B. then came out into the garden with an armful of 
new straw for the rabbit, and this diverted the children from 
the modelling.  After helping to put the straw in the store 
place, they went into the sand-pit, digging large holes and 
making ditches. 
   Presently all the children helped to gather flowers for the 
schoolroom, some of them also tying bunches of flowers up 
with raffia to take home. 
   Harold then went into the schoolroom alone.  He "played" 
the piano for a time, and then, standing on the chair, reached 
down the Scottish Students' Song Book, and asked Mrs. I. 
to play "John Peel" for him.  He wanted Mrs. I. to sing 
it too, but as she had a cold, she refused.  He was very 
cross, and tried to hit her.  Then he asked for "Dickory 
Dock", but said it was "a silly tune", as there were "too 
many Dickories in it.  There should only be one, and you 
sing it too many times".  He then asked for more tunes, 
including "Humpty-Dumpty", and seemed to listen, although 
he ran about meanwhile. 
   Christopher now came in from the garden and joined in the 
music and presently all the other children too.  Soon they 
ran out again, but Christopher stayed with Mrs. I., asking 
for various tunes.  "Is that a dancing one?"  "Please 
play a soldier one", "a big man one", "a parade one";
and to each of these he put appropriate dramatic movement 
beating the drum to the parade one for instance.  He 
beat in very good rhythm. 
   Presently Harold came in again, and took out his paint- 
box.  The old label was coming off the box, and he wrote 
a new one and fixed it on the box.  He painted two pictures, 
and then asked Mrs. I. to pass him more paper.  As she was 
busy at the moment, she said, "Perhaps you will get it 
yourself"; Harold was very angry at this, and stopped 
painting.  He said, "Horrid Mrs. I.", and threatened to 
throw his painting water out of the window, but refrained 
from this when asked not to do it.  He emptied it away; 
but then the contrariness passed, and he got fresh water and 
paper, and said, "Now I'll paint letters".  He painted and 
drew a page full of capital letters; he did not know the names 
of some of them, but learnt and remembered the names while 
drawing them.  He went through them all several times, with 
great patience.  He then said, "I'll run and see if my mother's 
coming, `cos I want to give her this".  He kept it near him 
all the time, and gave it to her as soon as she arrived, an 
hour later. 
   Frank now came in from the garden.  He passed near a
table on which the number cards from 1-9 had been arranged 
with the shells by Harold and Mrs. I.  Frank upset them 
deliberately.  Seeing a new ball of string on the shelf, he at 
once asked for it, "to make a wireless".  Mrs. I. suggested 
that he should first re-arrange the cards and shells he had 
disordered, and he did so quite cheerfully.  Then he made an 
elaborate "wireless".  Theobald helping him; they carried 
the string all over the room from point to point. 
   Meanwhile, Priscilla was doing number work with cards and 
shells in the garden, with Miss B.  She is not yet able to 
recognise all the figures, but counts up to twenty easily, 
Later on, she drew figures on the board with chalk. 
   Frank asked Mrs. I. to help him to write a letter to Dan's 
mother, to invite her to come to dinner.  Mrs. I. told him 
how to spell the words, and he printed the letters in capitals, 
and sent it by a messenger. 
   The last half-hour of the morning was again spent in model- 
ling, all the children working carefully and most interestedly. 
Theobald helped Mrs. I. to make a "tree", with leaves and 
white blossom. 
   Frank made a beautiful small model of a garden with a 
fence, a weeping willow tree, a house with two chimneys 
and a windmill; and then he made a church, with a cock 
on the steeple, outside the garden of the house. 
   Harold, too, modelled a garden fence.  Priscilla came in 
towards the end, and played with the plasticine for a time, 
but did not actually make anything.  Theobald mixed white 
and yellow plasticine together, to see what colour it would 
make.  The children had talked about this, Frank suggesting 
"perhaps if we mix white and brown together, it will be 
blue". 
   In the afternoon, the children played in the sand-pit, making 
ditches and puddles, and talking about what they were doing 
very eagerly all the time.  Dan gave a long description of how 
he wanted "a lot of water", because he wanted "to make 
the water go round there and round there"; he talked so 
much about it that the others laughed heartily at him.  When 
the children came in to wash their feet in hot water, Dan 
slipped and overturned his bowl of water, and fell in it -- an 
occasion for further laughter and enjoyment. 
 
   May 5.  Mrs. I. brought four small undressed dolls to 
school, intending one for Priscilla, with a view to awakening 
a more lively interest than she had shown yet, and having 
the other three as extras, in case any of the boys happened 
to show any interest.  The boys were, however, much more 
eager about them than Priscilla, and each wanted one, so 
that more had to be sent for.  Frank and George wanted to 
make dresses for the dolls, and began cutting out and sewing 
them.   Frank made two different coloured dresses, cutting 
out a hole for the neck, and slipping one on his doll.  He
then made a small coloured handkerchief; and later in the 
morning, two bibs for himself, complete with string.  He 
talked of doing a third of these, but did not finish it.  He and 
Miss B. wore one each at lunch time. 
   Harold and Paul eagerly appropriated a doll each.  Harold 
said, "I'm going to take mine home", and talked of this 
insistently all the morning.  Mrs. I. did not want them taken 
away, and said they were for use in school.  He gave up 
the idea with great reluctance, and perhaps would not have 
done so without trouble if the doll had not got broken before 
the end of the morning.  (Or perhaps this was why he broke 
it?)  When later in the morning, several of the boys were 
digging in the sand-pit, Paul and Harold and Theobald 
"bathed" their dolls, and Theobald made a well in 
the sand for his, whilst he sang "Ding-dong bell! Pussy's 
in the well!"  In the water, the head of Paul's doll came 
off, to his great distress.  He tried hard to fasten it on again 
with gum, Harold helping him.  But in a moment's fit of 
destructiveness, Theobald, Frank and Harold broke their 
dolls' heads. 
   Christopher asked for music early in the morning, and he 
and Paul and Harold ran and skipped to the music, carrying 
the dolls while they did so.  Then all the children except 
Frank, who went on with his sewing, went to help Miss B. 
feed the rabbit.  Each boy in turn stroked it, and talked to it. 
When they fed the hen, they looked at the eggs and counted 
them.  Then came the play in the sand-pit, with puddles of 
rain; followed by gardening.  Priscilla was so much more 
at home and happier this morning that she wanted to join 
the boys barefooted in the sand-pit; but Mrs. I. persuaded 
her to wait until the afternoon, when there would be fewer 
boys there, and they would be more certain to remain 
friendly. 
   Christopher and Priscilla helped to bring out some large 
wooden boxes which had been got for sowing small seeds in. 
They filled them with earth, and sowed the seeds, Dan, 
Frank, Paul and George all sharing in this too. 
   Presently all the children came in, washed their feet and 
put on shoes and stockings then settled down to model. 
They all worked very concentratedly with the plasticine for 
half-an-hour.  Theobald and Mrs. I. modelled a rabbit's 
house together, Theobald putting on the roof in strips. 
Priscilla made a rabbit's dish and box to go into the house. 
Christopher made another rabbit's house, asking Mrs. I. to 
"make a rabbit to go in".  Paul made a steam-roller, and 
then a wall of large plasticine bricks.  George made a drum, 
and later cut up the plasticine into strips with scissors. 
Harold made a drum with a string to go round his neck. 
Christopher then made "an earthworm" and "a wire- 
worm".  Frank made "a tree with a wireworm on it". 
He had seen a wireworm in the garden when digging, and 
had noticed some of the differences between a wireworm and 
an earthworm.  All the children had noticed the feelers of 
the wireworm, but only Frank had seen its legs.  Dan 
modelled an engine. 
   For the rest of the morning, Harold and Paul drew engines 
with chalk on the board and the floor, and Harold painted; 
whilst Priscilla, Dan and Frank sewed, Priscilla helping Dan 
to cut out some dresses for the doll. 
   After lunch, Priscilla was very easy and happy with the 
boys.  She and they played various running and chasing 
games, and later on they played in the sand-pit, making 
ditches and channels and dykes and castles, etc. 
 
   May 6.  The children fed the rabbit and the hen as soon 
as they arrived, and helped to clean out the hutch.  Frank 
then gathered a large bunch of rhubarb from his own plot, 
and walked about with his arms full, calling out, "Rhubarb 
for sale, rhubarb for sale!"  George and Christopher helped 
him to carry it to the kitchen window, where it was passed 
in to the cook, the children asking her to "give us some 
cooked for dinner to-morrow". 
   The children felt the warmth of the eggs while the hen 
was off her nest, and Frank asked if they could crack one 
and look inside.  This was agreed, and he broke one into 
a cup; the children saw the embryonic blood vessels in the 
egg with great interest. 
   They then all went into the sand-pit, with bare feet.  Mrs. I. 
suggested their watering the boxes of seeds which had been 
sown the day before.  They accidentally poured in too much 
water, and as the soil was very fine, it swam round in a 
puddle.  This excited the children, and they put their hands 
in, and then daubed the wet soil on their arms and legs and 
feet, and called themselves "Indians" and "clowns" and 
ran about the garden with immense delight and enjoyment. 
Priscilla, Christopher and Paul did not join in this, and the 
others tried for a time to catch them and make them join in, 
but did not succeed.  They laughed and enjoyed the business 
of washing and cleaning up just as much as the being 
"Indians".
   They were all feeling very vigorous this morning, and played 
hide-and-seek and various chasing games for a long time 
and again later, they ran about as engines, in a systematised 
play, with signals and crossing-gates, etc.  After this, they 
all modelled with plasticine, but ended the morning by making 
"motor-bikes" with chairs, and riding them in a make- 
believe game.  Part of the time, Mrs. I. played the piano; 
and Priscilla asked, "Can I make a mat while you play?" 
sewing with raffia on cardboard.  This was her first inde- 
pendent choice of work.  A discussion having arisen about 
names, Priscilla told the others that her name was also 
"Mary", which much amused them.  When she was in 
the schoolroom with Mrs. I., Dan was sent in by the other 
boys to say, "Mary, Mary, Frank wants you". 
 
   May 7.  The children fed the rabbit and the hen, and then 
dug in the sand, barefooted.  Mrs. I. had taken a camera to 
school, and they were all interested when it was brought out, 
and each wanted to have his photograph taken.  Frank was 
very insistent in his eagerness, and tried to get in front of 
the camera every time other children were being taken. 
Christopher asked to have his photo taken on the up-turned 
wheelbarrow as a "motor-bike", he being the "driver". 
Priscilla and Frank wanted to be photographed "together, 
after we are married".  Frank told Dan that he could 
"carry Priscilla's train".
   George and Frank gathered flowers, cutting them with 
scissors, and tied them up in bunches with raffia.  (George 
stood about with the flowers in his hand, and a dreamy look, 
when it was nearly time to leave, waiting to go home; he 
took the flowers with him.) 
   In the middle of the morning, the children went in, and 
sat down to model.  Harold and Frank made "a wireless" 
with raffia and sticks fastened up with plasticine.  Priscilla 
sewed a mat with raffia and cardboard.  Presently the boys 
asked Mrs. I. to join in a dramatic game with the "wireless", 
they all running past and saying, "We're going to blow it 
up", and Mrs. I. having to shake her head at them and 
say, "No, no!"  as they ran by.  After a time they pretended 
that they had blown it up, and demanded to be "put in 
prison" for doing this.  Mrs. I. put each one in a mock 
prison.  After this, Theobald persuaded the others to play 
"Cinderella and the two wicked sisters" dramatically. 
Later, on Paul's suggestion, they all became "fire-engines", 
and then railway engines, with crossing-gates, signals, etc., 
Paul and Harold showing a particularly vigorous enjoyment 
of all this.  Presently, Paul asked Mrs. I. to play and sing 
 "Jack and Jill", whilst the children dramatised it.  He 
and Harold and Dan and Frank stood on a table, the "hill", 
with pails in their hands, and all fell down at the appropriate 
moment.  Theobald greatly enjoyed this, and asked for it 
several times over.  When they "fell" they dropped the 
pails, and after a time they began to kick the pails, so Mrs. I. 
took the pails away and suggested a change of play.  The 
children then returned to modelling for a time; but Theobald 
made a "gnome's house" with the table and rugs, helping 
afterwards to fold the rugs up and put them away.  
   Dan's father came to lunch, and this had its usual effect on 
Frank, making him very jealous and hostile.  He refused 
to eat any of the first course, although he usually has a dis- 
tinctly large appetite.  He tried to quarrel with Dan, and 
pushed his spoons moodily into the join in the table.  Dan 
usually insists on sitting next to Miss B. at lunch, but to-day 
naturally chose to sit next to his father.  But when he saw 
Frank take his place next to Miss B., he wanted that too.  
After a few tears, however, it was settled happily.  And 
Frank made up for missing the first course by having several 
large helpings of the second.  There was the rhubarb he had 
gathered from his garden the day before, and a dish of jelly 
and a rice pudding.  Frank remarked that the three dishes 
were arranged "like a triangle".  Dan, hearing this, thought 
Frank was referring to the shapes of the dishes themselves, 
and corrected him.  "Oh, that one's circular, and that is 
an ellipse -- and that one's an ellipse."  After lunch, they 
made canals in the sand-pit, with locks made of strips of 
wood, putting one "for Mrs. I. to stand on".  And then 
they had a period of music, moving rhythmically to the 
piano, very successfully.  They asked for "the sleeping 
one", the "galloping one", and so on.  In "the sleep- 
ing one", Dan walked about with his head rolling, and 
murmured, "I'm going to bed.  I want my mummy".  At 
the end they all lay down and kept very still until a change 
of the music "woke them up" again.  
 
   May 8.  Christopher and Theobald began to draw engines 
as soon as they arrived, looking at the pictures in the books 
of engines, to help get the details right.  (Theobald suffers 
from too severe self-criticism.  After making a drawing, he 
says.  "It's all rubbish, it's all rubbish, I didn't make a 
proper one", and screws up the drawing and throws it 
away.  He is equally critical of what others do, telling 
Christopher, "That's a silly one".  He often says this to 
the other children about their models or paintings.) 
   George also drew when he came.  It was a very wet 
morning, and most of it had to be indoors.  
   Frank asked, first Mrs. I., and then Miss B., to be "a wedding-lady",
walking round the room with a red rug 
pinned on as "a train", carrying a bunch of flowers 
gathered by Frank, and with five of the children holding 
the "train".  Frank wanted one of the other children to 
be the "wedding-lady", but for some reason none of them 
would.  After this, they all became railway trains, and had 
a vigorous and delightful half-hour, full of ideas and enjoy- 
ment, and with no sort of friction.  Frank ran round and 
round in one corner, saying, "this engine's on a turn-table". 
Dan then did the same.  Harold varied all his movements, 
according to whether he was an express or a slow train, or 
a goods train, and so on.  Miss B. and Mrs. I. made bridges 
and crossing-gates for the trains.  Theobald joined in the 
play too, mostly by himself, but for a time making a train 
with Paul, on Paul's invitation.  
   All but Harold then settled down to plasticine.  Harold 
said he wanted to "make a swing with one of the rugs". 
First he suggested tying it up, and then that he should 
"hammer it up with nails".  He tried to do this, hammering 
in three nails, but found that as soon as he pulled on the 
rug, it came down.  He was very dissatisfied with the small 
hammer, because the head came off, saying it was "a toy 
hammer", and despising it.  "I want a real hammer." 
   Frank, Dan, Theobald and Priscilla modelled a set of 
crockery, cakes, etc., for a "tea-party", and when all was 
complete, Priscilla went round and invited all the other 
children to "come to the party".  Christopher and George 
accepted the invitation, and all shared in the party very 
happily, talking quietly.  Frank and Dan then made another 
party of their own at another table, and invited all the others 
to visit them, all agreeing except Harold.  Frank and Dan 
did a great deal of patient constructive work for this, and 
Theobald showed much more consistent and successful effort 
than usual.  But for a time, George and Christopher got 
rather excited.  They were sitting opposite each other at one 
of the small tables, and began throwing plasticine at 
each other, and biting it, and laughing in a shrill uncontrolled 
way.  Mrs. I. after a time took the plasticine away, when 
they went on throwing it about and screaming.  They did 
not respond to any constructive suggestion until Mrs. I. began 
to play the piano and sing some of the songs which Christopher 
specially enjoys.  Then they were quietened, and began to 
listen.  Harold and Paul joined in too, and asked for par- 
ticular tunes.  
   In the middle of the morning two boy visitors came, and 
for a short time the others were hostile to the strangers, Frank 
and Harold talking about "kicking them".  But this soon 
wore off, and the two were contented and happy.  Theobald 
persisted most in being disagreeable to them.  They built 
with bricks on the floor, but kept watching what the other 
children were doing, and later on joined in the modelling.  The elder 
of
the two was shown the use of the colour tablets, 
and played with them interestedly for a time.  
   Priscilla again sewed her raffia mat.  When the rain 
stopped, the children went out to feed the animals.  
   Yesterday Theobald having an unoccupied moment, Mrs. I. 
had suggested his using the number cards with her, but he 
had shown no interest.  Today he responded to the same 
suggestion, and used the number cards and the shells for 
some time.  He got out the cards from 1-11, and then said, 
"Why don't you put 12 too?"  Mrs. I. gave him the 12.  
He arranged shells up to 9, but then tired of them and put 
them away.  Christopher, Priscilla and Theobald then joined 
in the use of the sandpaper letters with Mrs. I.  Christopher 
saw that some of the letters were letters "both ways up", 
although different ones.  This led him to turn each one 
upside down and ask, "What is it this way?"  until he 
found that it applied to some only.  
   After a brief interval of running round as engines, and 
a wrestling bout between George and Christopher, all the 
children spent the last half-hour quietly drawing and painting.  
Harold noticed some rectangular cards which had been cut 
diagonally into triangles, and was interested in fitting them 
together.  At first he said, "They're polygons", but then, 
"No, they're triangles". 
   After lunch, the children tended the animals again.  Frank 
likes to lift the rabbit up and hold it in his arms.  They 
cracked another egg into a large tin, and saw the blood in it.  
Later they stirred it up and said it was "scrambled egg", 
and poured it into smaller tins "to take home".  They 
ended the afternoon by moving rhythmically to music again.  
 
 
Second Week, January 29-February 4, 1926.  
 
Ages of children mentioned, on January 29, 1926: 
Frank (6;3), Tommy (3;11), Christopher (5;4), Priscilla 
(6;5), Dan (4;8), Phineas (2;11), Jessica (3;3), Conrad (5;0), 
Lena (3;1).  
 
   January 29.  The children were in a very gay mood this 
morning.  Frank and Christopher used the Bunsen burner 
for a little time, altering the flame with the air supply con- 
stantly.  Priscilla then joined them, and they held glass rods 
in the flame, noticing when the glass became soft, and joining 
the pieces together while they were soft.  Then they ran 
and moved rhythmically to the piano, and presently Frank 
"dressed up" in the cloakroom in Christopher's coat and 
hat, and came in to the schoolroom with these on.  The 
children laughed heartily at this, and all then began to dress 
up in each other's outdoor clothes, with immense enjoyment.  
After this, they settled down to various quiet work.  Frank 
did some excellent building with bricks and then painted; 
Priscilla and Dan painted elaborate cut-out designs with lines 
and spots; Jessica used the colour tablets; Tommy, after 
"playing the piano" for a time, joined in the brick building.  
Christopher wanted to write with ink, but as he is not really 
able to manage this, Mrs. I. suggested chalk or pencil instead, 
but on this he said, "Well then, I won't do any writing", 
and joined Frank with the bricks.  
   Phineas came with his mother, his second trial visit.  He 
was very cheerful, and the others very friendly to him.  
He played ball with Jessica, Tommy and Christopher, who 
were very considerate and gentle.  Yesterday he had burnt 
his mouth with hot cocoa, and so would not have any to-day.  
Later he played in the garden with the others, leaving his 
mother in the schoolroom quite cheerfully.  Frank was making 
"a path" through his garden plot, with barrowfuls of sand.  
He has carried this on for several days.  Later on, he and 
Priscilla were swinging, and both tumbled out of the swing, 
scratching their hands a little.  They asked for bandages.  
which were put on, and this led to a "hospital" play.  Both 
said they "couldn't walk", and lay down on the rugs.  The 
other children became "nurses" and "doctors" bringing 
medicine and water, and so on.  This hospital play was 
carried on very freely, and dramatically for a long time.  The 
rest of the morning and most of the afternoon was spent in 
gardening, digging, clipping the hedges, tidying up the paths, 
and making new "paths" through their garden plots with 
sand from the sand-pit.  
 
February 1.  Frank brought to school a large cardboard 
box full of "dressing-up things", which he said were for 
himself and Dan and Priscilla to use.  The three dressed up 
in various ways, and ran about to show the other children.  
Later on, they ran and skipped to the piano, in their 
"dressing-up things", and sang nursery rhymes with 
Mrs. I., and Frank played a toy harp he had brought.  
When they were tired of the dressing-up, they put all the 
things away in the box.  
	Most of the children were cutting out coloured pictures from 
an old calendar, which had been shared among them.  
	Phineas came again, his third visit, and this time, his 
mother went away and left him for an hour or two.  He 
screamed for nearly half-an-hour.  At first he sat on Mrs. I.'s 
knee, insisting on her wiping his eyes and nose every other 
minute, then being cheerful for a moment, then starting to 
cry again.  After a few minutes, when it seemed as if he 
were enjoying this exclusive attention too much, Mrs. I. left 
him sitting on the rug, and went to play the piano for the 
other children to run to.  Phineas rocked himself backwards 
and forwards screaming for a time, but soon calmed down, 
and began to look at what the others were doing.  Tommy and 
Jessica went to talk to him, and to play with the beans 
and wooden measures which Mrs. I. had put beside him on 
the rug.  He threw some of these about the floor with great 
zest, and then took turns with Tommy at putting a certain 
number of the beans into Mrs. I.'s hand, counting them as he 
did so, and having them given to him in the same way.  Tommy 
is very eager to count just now; he counts up to four quite 
securely by himself.  Later in the morning, he spontaneously 
counted the stones in Mrs. I.'s brooch, asking for "what's
after four?", and "what's after five?"  Then he pretended 
to "wash Mrs. I.'s hair", pretending that the beans were 
soap putting them on her head, and letting them drop down.  
Phineas laughed at this, and joined in the game, and soon 
forgot his tears.  Whilst he was still crying, Frank and 
Priscilla were using the burner, and he laughed with delight 
when he saw the flame, calling out I can see it burning 
and "It's out now!"  Phineas refused to have any cocoa 
when the other children had it, but when his mother returned 
for him, he then asked for some cocoa.  (The children take 
turns at helping to make it.)  Frank, Dan and Priscilla used 
the burner for some time, and found they could divide a 
long piece of glass tube by melting it and pulling it apart.  
	After cocoa, all the children went into the garden, and 
either gardened or dug in the sand-pit.  But presently, they 
asked Mrs. I. if she would "be ill in hospital, and let them 
nurse her".  This arose from looking at a thermometer case 
which Priscilla had brought to school.  They all joined in a 
very elaborate "hospital" game, with Mrs. I. as the patient.  
They made a bed in the schoolroom, with chairs, a rug and 
a pillow, and all became either doctors or nurses.  Priscilla 
"took her temperature", which turned out to be "110", 
and later went up to "136", and said "she's very ill". 
They all brought sips of water, and medicine, and fed Mrs. I. 
from a spoon, wrapped her up and told her "Now you must 
go to sleep".  Tommy was very affectionate, stroked her 
face, and presently said, "This doctor must get into bed 
with you"; but Priscilla, as head nurse, sternly refused to 
allow this.  For some reason, the other children would not 
let Jessica join in this play, although she wanted to do.  
Priscilla told Christopher to "push her away", and he tried 
to do.  Miss B. invited her to use the colour tablets, and 
Jessica agreed quite happily.  After a time, the children said 
"Mrs. I.'s better now -- she can sit up"; and washed her 
face with warm water, telling her, however, "You can do 
your hands yourself".  Then she was allowed to get up, to 
sit at a table, and read.  After this, the play was repeated 
with Frank as the patient.  
	In the afternoon, Priscilla and Dan made "a road" in 
the garden path, with sand from the sand-pit.  A small hole 
in the floor of the summer-house led them to ask what was 
underneath they tried to poke it larger to see.  They then
asked, "We want to go into the cellar (under the school- 
room) to see what's under the summer-house floor".  Mrs. I. 
agreed.  but just as they started, Dan said, "But the cellar's 
under the schoolroom, it couldn't be under the summer- 
house!"  He was quite correct, as the cellar ended at the 
schoolroom wall, several yards away from the summer-house.  
The others said, "We want to go and see"; so they went 
to verify it.  All went down to the cellar, with an air of great 
adventure.  The children found some old lumber there, which 
they asked if they could have for their games -- an old suit- 
case, a purse, some pans, some shavings, which Dan wrapped 
up in paper, and an empty biscuit tin.  These were brought 
back in triumph.  Some of the shavings were spilt on the 
stairs, and Mrs. I. asked the children to go back later and 
sweep them up.  Dan was not very willing to do this, but 
Priscilla said she would, so Dan helped too.  They then 
played in the garden with the things they had brought from 
the cellar.  
 
  February 2.  Frank again brought the box of dressing-up 
things.  The suitcase brought from the cellar yesterday led 
to a long play of "going a journey".  Dan and Christopher 
made "a train" with great zest, arranging the chairs 
elaborately, whilst Frank "packed", and he and Priscilla 
dressed up as the travellers.  Then the train started, with 
Dan as the driver, and Christopher as the stoker.  Tommy 
and Jessica occasionally joined in the play, but often just 
stood and watched.  Frank and Priscilla were "going to be 
married", and Frank asked if they might have the flowers 
from the schoolroom jar -- flowers which Jessica had brought 
and arranged.  Jessica and Tommy built with bricks part of 
the time.  
	In the middle of this play, Phineas came again, and seemed 
pleased to be there.  But when his mother spoke of going 
away, he cried loudly.  She stayed a little, then left him.  
He sat at the bottom of the stairs, and screamed.  The other 
children put their hands to their ears to shut out the sound 
of his screaming.  Mrs. I. gave him the beans, but he did 
not use them at first.  When he was left alone he stopped 
screaming, but rocked himself backwards and forwards.  The 
others ran to look at him, and told Mrs. I. how he did this, 
"He does like this", and all sat and rocked like him.  Then
in the middle of this play, Phineas decided to come up the 
stairs into the schoolroom.  He called to Mrs. I., and she held 
his hand to come up the stairs.  He hesitated halfway, and 
said "I don't want to"; but then said, "Can I have the 
beans?" and came up.  After this he was entirely contented 
for an hour-and-a-half, playing with the beans on the rug 
happily, and talking freely to Jessica.  Priscilla played with 
him, too, after the "wedding".  (Jessica's mother told 
Mrs. I. today that Jessica said at home yesterday, "Mrs. I. 
is my great friend".)  For a time, Phineas rolled an empty 
tin about on tables and the floor, laughing with glee to see 
it roll in a curved path; Christopher, Tommy and Priscilla 
took turns in fetching it back for him, in the most charming 
way.  When the other children went out into the garden, 
Phineas would not at first come there, saying over and over 
again, "It's too cold".  But when left alone in the school- 
room, he watched the others playing in the garden and 
sand-pit, and after trying to persuade Mrs. I. to come inside 
and stay with him, he came out too, and joined the others 
happily in the sand.  When he went away today, he said 
with a smile, "Nice Malting House".  
	Tommy spent most of his time digging his garden, and 
talking in a friendly voice to the puppy.  Christopher told 
Mrs. I. that his garden plot had been "all dug up".  Mrs. I. 
having been weeding there on the previous day.  She explained 
that if all the grass and weeds were taken out, he could sow 
flower seeds.  He then joined in the weeding and digging.  
Several of the other children were "making a railroad 
track", with sand and bricks, all working together.  Frank 
said, "There are two women, Jessica and Priscilla, and four 
men, me and Dan and Tommy and Christopher, making the 
railway track".  Later on, they all practised jumping from 
the wall into the sand-pit.  
	In the afternoon, they continued the railway making for a 
time.  Then they all drew and crayoned geometrical designs, 
and cut them out.  Christopher again asked for ink, and 
today Mrs. I. let him have it.  He and the others then all 
wrote "letters" to Mrs. I., asking her "please read them 
at once and write to us in return"; Mrs. I. did this, and 
Dan and Christopher carried the letters to the others as 
postmen.  Dan easily reads the names of all the children; 
Christopher needs more help.  At the end they counted the 
cotton dresses and bonnets to put on them and ended up 
by "taking their dolls for a walk" in the garden. 
 
   February 4.  Priscilla and Frank again made paper dolls. 
Then all the children joined in a game, in which they sat 
round the blackboard, and Miss B. wrote their names in turn, 
the child who saw his name written coming to whisper the 
name of another to be written, and so on. 
   Priscilla made the cocoa today.  Then all went into the 
garden, and dug or ran round.  Christopher asked Mrs. I. to 
"help him make a wall of sand", according to his detailed 
instructions.  Whilst doing this, he asked Mrs. I. if he could 
"come to tea next Sunday", saying that he "would like 
to come every Sunday".  Jessica overheard this, but did 
not make any remark at the moment.  Later in the day, 
however, she whispered to Mrs. I. that she would "come to 
tea too, one day".  Meanwhile, the other children again 
played a family game, with Frank as "the nurse".  They 
asked Mrs. I. to "be the maid and cook the dinner". 
They had the paper dolls which they had made, in prams and 
carriages.  Dan said "the babies are sick". 
   After this, all took turns at sliding down a board which 
they arranged on the stone pedestal -- except Tommy who 
wandered about solitarily.  He watched the others being 
active, but did not join in. 
   On returning to the schoolroom, after feet and legs had 
been washed, the children asked for the game "Grandmother 
Grey", which Frank had taught the others, and each took 
turns at being "grandmother".  All but Christopher then 
made slices of toast for lunch, but he would not make 
any, saying that he would rather not have any than bother 
making it. 
   Tommy asked for the nursery rhymes, and the others all 
joined in the songs, clustered round the piano. 
   During lunch, a man came to measure the size of the school- 
room, for some people who wanted to hire it for a dance. 
He paced out the length of each side.  The children watched 
very quietly, and when he had gone, asked "what did he 
do that for?"  Mrs. I. told them, and they asked her to do 
it, while they counted the steps.  
   In the afternoon, they made "boats" with boxes and 
chairs, and asked to have the electric lights pulled down 
low, one over each boat.  Mrs. I. played "boat-songs", 
whilst they drew and modelled in the boats. 
   At lunch, Christopher had asked Dan if he also would 
"come to tea at Mrs. I.'s on Sunday", and told him that 
his mother would drive them both in the car.  In the after- 
noon, they dramatised the way in which Christopher's mother 
would call for Dan, and then drive them on to Mrs. I.'s house.  

Third Week, April 27-May 3, 1926. 
Ages of children mentioned, on April 27th, 1926: 
Tommy (4;2), Christopher (5;7), Priscilla (6;8), Dan (4;11), 
Phineas (3;2), Jessica (3;6), Lena (3;3), Herbert (3;5), and 
Alfred (4;4) (brothers), Dexter (4;10), Conrad (5;3) 
 
   April 27.  Dan, Christopher and Priscilla began to use the 
carpentering tools as soon as they arrived, knocking nails into 
the platform and the wooden partition.  In using the hammer 
Dan noticed for the first time, calling the others to look, that 
there were "holes", as he called them, in the platform -- 
i.e., the divisions between the three sections of the platform 
(made in three sections for easy moving).  He pushed the 
screw-driver into the "holes", and then saw that with this 
he could move the sections sideways to a slight extent.  He 
at once realised that the sections were not fixed, but could 
be lifted up, and was very thrilled by the discovery, calling 
everyone "Why, we could lift it up -- come and help".  All 
the children came and were very interested.  He asked Miss B. 
and Mrs. I. to "help us lift it up", and when all put 
their fingers under the ledge of the section and lifted together, 
the platform was raised a few inches from the floor.  The 
children shouted with delight, and were very excited.  The 
platform was of course very heavy, and as Mrs. I. was afraid 
that the slightest slip would mean serious hurt, she soon 
stopped helping them to lift it -- knowing that they could not 
move it without her.  Dan was most disappointed at having 
only been able to lift it such a little way, and begged Mrs. I 
to go on helping. 
   There is a gate in the railing at the back of the platform, 
with steps leading down to the cloakroom.  The children 
sometimes swing on this gate, and this morning Dan, Priscilla 
and Christopher were doing this, and the rivalry of the two 
boys for Priscilla's favour gave rise to some difficulty.  Dan 
was accidentally bumped on the foot with the gate, and the 
other two were unsympathetic.  Priscilla said, "You stupid 
thing -- why did you get in the way?"  Dan cried very 
bitterly.  Presently Mrs. I. said she was going to fasten the 
gates, as they were leading to quarrels, and asked the children 
to do something else.  Dan was very cross about this; but 
presently he became interested in what the others were doing, 
and joined in.  (He was in a generally domineering mood 
to-day, and easily got angry at anybody's interference with 
his wishes.) 
   Miss B. brought out the model of the garden which she 
had been making yesterday, independently of the one which 
Mrs. I. and the children had made together.  The children 
now joined her in this, Priscilla modelling a large plot of 
rhubarb, the others making trees, and so on.  This led to 
their talking again about modelling things "as they look 
to the man in the aeroplane", and Christopher asked, 
"Couldn't we model Cambridge?"  The others were 
delighted with this idea, and Dan said, "Oh, yes, we could 
model America, India, Africa and all the world!"  They 
talked about the houses and colleges and streets of Cambridge 
for some time, and Mrs. I. asked them, "Shall I bring you 
a picture of Cambridge as it would look to the men in the 
aeroplane?"  They said "Oh, yes, do!" 
   Whilst the older children were modelling, Phineas, Jessica, 
Tommy, Herbert and Alfred were using the pulleys which had 
been fixed up by the older group yesterday, on the walls of the 
schoolroom.  They played with them for an hour and a half, 
pulling up pails and detachable weights, etc., with great 
delight.  Phineas was very thrilled with the one he had, and 
quite early found himself able to slip the cord on to the wheel 
again when it came off.  Tommy was quickly able to thread 
the cord through the holder of the pulley when it came right 
out.  But the younger children's use of the pulleys led to some 
social difficulty, as the older children, although they had 
clearly been told yesterday that the pulleys were "for all 
the children," felt that they had established a proprietary 
right to them by fixing them up, and were very angry when 
the younger ones played with them.  Mrs. I. told them again, 
"They are for all the children to use -- sometimes you can 
use them, and sometimes Phineas and Tommy and the 
others"; but Dan and Priscilla found it hard to accept this, 
and told the others several times, "You're not to do that, 
it's my pulley!"  Dan was very cross and determined about 
it, and even at the end of the morning, he and the elder ones 
showed little sign of accepting the idea of their common 
ownership. 
   Jessica spent a good deal of time modelling by herself, but 
when this quarrel arose, she took part in it on the side of 
the older children, although she was not herself using the 
pulleys. 
   Dan, Christopher and Phineas did an hour's reading and 
writing in their own room this morning.  Towards the end 
of the morning, Jessica and Dan played as "puppies", with 
Priscilla as their "master".  Christopher was also a puppy 
for a time, but then became the master.  Alfred, Herbert 
and Phineas seemed to enjoy watching this play, whilst going 
on with their own pursuits. 
   In the afternoon, Priscilla, Dan and Christopher made 
"cars" in the summer-house, with an arrangement of chairs 
and tables, but modelling the steering wheel, the starting 
handle, the clutches, and other parts of the mechanism with 
plasticine -- very good work.  Tommy collected garden snails, 
and put seven large ones in a box, spending nearly an hour 
watching them, and pushing them back into the box when 
they crawled up the sides.  Mrs. I. suggested that he should 
draw them, and he did so with chalk in a very interesting 
and attractive design.  He put grass into the box with the 
snails, and took them home. 
 
   April 28.  The children again began to try to lift up the 
middle section of the platform, asking for Mrs. I.'s help, and 
this time were more successful.  When they had raised it 
about a foot from the floor, some of them found a pair of 
scissors and a penny underneath, and spoke of the dust and 
cobwebs.  After a little time, Mrs. I. again said, "Now, my 
fingers are tired, I'm not going to help any more", for the 
same reasons as yesterday.  The children protested in dis- 
appointment, and then Dan said. with great eagerness, "I 
know!  I know what we could do.  We could get the big 
box from the cloakroom and lift the platform up again, and 
push the box under.  That would hold it up for us!"  Mrs. I. 
agreed to help in this, and the children brought the box and 
pushed it under.  This raised the platform about two feet, 
and they at once began to use it as a jumping board.  Every 
one of the children joined in this, even Phineas and Herbert, 
with great zest.  They took turns in jumping, although every 
now and then Dan insisted on all the others getting out of 
the way while he started at the back of the cloakroom, ran 
across and up the board and leapt off the platform, shouting 
"All clear! All clear!"  The children marked on the floor 
with chalk the distance which each child jumped, and wrote 
the name beside the mark.  They greatly enjoyed this.  In 
the middle of this game, Phineas began to skip round the 
room by himself, then asked Mrs. I. to skip close behind 
him, holding his hand;  he skipped most delightfully and 
with great enjoyment.  When the children seemed to be getting 
tired and a little excited, Mrs. I. put down the platform and 
asked them to do something else. 
   Christopher, Priscilla and Dan then went up to their own 
room with Mrs. I., who wrote on the board, "Can you 
jump?  Can you run?"  and the children wrote the answer. 
Dan suggested for his answer, "Yes, I can run ever so fast". 
Priscilla then added fours continuously, using the four-unit 
rod and the cards.  Afterwards Priscilla made the cocoa, and 
then all ran and skipped. 
   Then Mrs. I. showed the children an aerial photo of Cam- 
bridge, and a simplified map showing the river and the main 
streets.  They looked at it carefully, following out the course 
of the river and the main streets, and marking on it them- 
selves the position of each child's own home, with his name 
printed beside it.  Then, on a very large sheet of cardboard, 
they began to model Cambridge from the map, Mrs. I. first 
putting in with a pencil the main lines of the river and the 
two main roads.  The children did all the modelling. 
   Just before this was begun, Jessica and some of the others 
asked Mrs. I. to lift them up so that they could swarm down 
the high pillar under the gallery (a favourite game).  Priscilla 
came running to do this too, and wanted to be lifted up just 
as Mrs. I. had begun to help Tommy.  When she was asked 
to wait for her turn, she was very angry and said to Mrs. I., 
"I shan't talk to you".  When offered her turn in due 
course, she refused it at first; but came back soon afterwards 
when Mrs. I. was again engaged.  As she could not then 
have it, she became hostile and contrary again but presently 
grew more friendly, and when much later Mrs. I. offered 
to help her up the pillar, she accepted pleasantly and 
happily. 
   Two visitors came to the school in the later part of the 
morning, and the children explained to them the modelling 
and maps, etc.  Then the children began another favourite 
game, being lifted from the floor whilst they kept their legs 
and bodies perfectly stiff.  After this, they ran and skipped 
and moved rhythmically to the piano for half-an-hour, with 
"the sleeping tune" to rest in at intervals.  All joined in 
except Herbert, who preferred, as he said, to "sit behind 
the piano".  Phineas and Tommy joined in much more freely 
than usual, and all showed great delight and eagerness. 
   Then Jessica, Christopher, Dan and Priscilla modelled a 
railway track with Miss B., making the sleepers, crossing- 
gates, signals, etc., very elaborately; whilst Tommy, Phineas 
and Herbert again played with the pulleys. 
   In the afternoon, the children made a variety of things 
with paper and paste; ending up with a game of a "hair- 
dresser's shop", in which they "washed" and "waved" 
each other's hair -- the shop being distinguished by the fact 
that the hairdresser gave his customers a sweet at the end of 
the job! 
 
   April 29.  Dan, Christopher, Priscilla and Jessica played 
a chasing game for half-an-hour after arriving.  Alfred settled 
down to model at once, and went on all morning, except for 
a short interval of jumping.  Herbert used the shells and sand- 
paper figures with Miss B.  After their chasing game, the older 
children read in their own room -- typewritten letters which 
Mrs. I. had done for them.  They were very keen about this; 
but Dan tired before Priscilla did, and began to disturb her. 
Christopher, however, kept steadily on, making words with 
the cardboard letters, and then using White's number rods. 
Priscilla stayed after the two boys had gone to the garden. 
and used the number rods, making tens, and unmaking them 
by subtraction, until it was time for cocoa. 
   Phineas and Jessica threaded beads all the first half of the 
morning.  Phineas was using the small glass beads which 
Jessica had brought to school.  On a previous occasion, 
Jessica had let Dan use them.  To-day. when he saw Phineas 
having them, Dan said "Those are mine", and took them 
away.  He would not at first return them, but did so later -- 
telling Priscilla all about it, when she came in the room, in 
a tone of great indignation, and still insisting that they were 
really his. 
   The children again asked for help in raising the platform 
with the box, for a jumping board.  They all took turns in 
jumping; and then called it "a diving-board", and pre- 
tended the floor was the river, and that they were swimming. 
They took their shoes and stockings off, and pretended to 
undress.  Later, this led to a family game, in which Priscilla 
was the mother, and carried the smaller ones about.  They 
made motor-cars, etc.  Priscilla became rather domineering, 
and was again very cross at first, when Mrs. I. asked her 
not to take certain chairs which were needed by other people; 
but presently accepted it cheerfully. 
   Herbert used the colour tablets then he, Phineas and 
Tommy used the graded wooden measures with the dried 
beans.  In the middle of this, Herbert pushed some beans 
down through a crack in the floor.  Seeing him do this, Alfred 
(his elder brother) said, "You mustn't do that.  It's naughty, 
it's naughty -- you mustn't do that!"  As there was no harm 
in it, Mrs. I. said, "They may if they want to".  Alfred 
then himself joined the others in doing it, with amusing 
eagerness, and went on longer than any of the others. 
   Tommy went through the sandpaper letters with Mrs. I., 
saying the sounds, whilst the other younger children again 
played with the pulleys.  Alfred and Herbert later on used 
the Montessori insets. 
   At lunch time, Christopher and Priscilla had a violent 
quarrel about a chair which Priscilla wanted Miss B. to have. 
Priscilla cried, and in the end Christopher gave way to her 
courteously.  Dan was very disgruntled throughout the day. 
   In the afternoon, the children gardened and gathered 
flowers, comparing the different sorts, and the growth of the 
different trees.  Then Mrs. I. told them "The House that 
Jack Built".  They enjoyed it very much, and asked for it 
several times over, joining her in saying it. 
 
   April 30.  Dexter returned to-day after some weeks' 
absence Dan and Priscilla were rather unfriendly in their 
talk at first, and would not accept his overtures.  He read 
with Mrs. I. in the summer-house, whilst the other children 
all dug and weeded their gardens.  They worked very steadily 
at this for a long time, arranging where they were going to 
sow the different sorts of seeds later on.  Dan and Priscilla 
then climbed trees.  Tommy made "a train", and then 
made "a table" with an old iron washstand and an old 
wicker bed-rest which the children often use in their play. 
He was very pleased with his arrangement, and most anxious 
that the others should not disturb it.  Jessica and the younger 
ones dug in the sand-pit.  Phineas threaded beads in the 
summer-house, and then used the wooden measures and 
beans.  Later on, Priscilla and Dexter used the reading and 
number material in the quiet room and Christopher used 
the number rods and cards for half-an-hour.  Priscilla adds 
up in three's very easily now. 
   Alfred and Herbert ran about, dug their gardens, and 
gathered flowers.  Phineas and Herbert then made ditches in 
the sand-pit, and Dexter joined them for a time.  Phineas 
then drew on the blackboard in the schoolroom, and spent 
some time watching the goldfish.  Priscilla started the family 
game, and "washed and tidied" Jessica and Dan, and they 
all built a house on the lawn.  Dexter, Tommy and Phineas 
used the pulleys in the schoolroom, and then took the weights 
and cords out into the garden.  Mrs. I. suggested that they 
should take the pulleys out also, which pleased them very 
much.  They helped to fix them up over the sand-pit, and 
spent a long time hauling up engines with a rope from the 
sand-pit into the summer-house.  At the end of the morning, 
Tommy gave Phineas a bunch of flowers from his own garden, 
and Phineas took them home with great delight.  Herbert 
and Alfred tried to gather blossom by standing on the garden 
bench and pulling it down with a long pole.  They stuck 
small pieces of blossom into the lawn, saying they were 
"making a garden".  These two tend to play together just 
now, not mixing with the others very much.  
   Mrs. I. suggested that the children should put fresh wooden 
labels and nails in the tool-shed, so that each could hang up his 
garden tools, the old labels having got disordered.  They all 
came eagerly to do this, those who could writing their own 
names on the labels, and each nailing up his own label.  
Dexter asked Mrs. I. to do it for him, as he was "not allowed 
to use a hammer", he said.  Mrs. I. said that all the children 
were allowed to use hammers in school, and he then nailed 
his own up quite easily.  They tied new string on their tools, 
and hung them up. 
   When several of the children were busy in the tool-shed, 
Dexter suddenly, without any provocation, shut and locked 
the door on them.  They were very cross, and when Mrs. I. 
undid the door, they wanted to do the same to him. They 
tried to pull him into the shed, and although he was much 
the largest of the children, he was terrified, and clung to 
Mrs. I. in urgent appeal.  He was in such neurotic terror 
that Mrs. I. told the other children not to do it, in spite of 
his strength and size.  They readily stopped, but Dexter 
cried to go home, and would not leave Mrs. I. for the rest 
of the morning.  He did various things with her, and presently 
became again quite cheerful and friendly. 
   After lunch, Christopher, Dan and Priscilla are walking 
about, as they said, "with stiff legs" -- the stimulus to this 
being a bandage for a slight scratch on Priscilla's leg.  They 
asked Mrs. I. to join in this, and she said she was made of 
wood all over".  The children took this up at once, and 
moved about very stiffly as "wooden soldiers".  Then Mrs. I. 
said, "Let's be made of plasticine", and they did this too 
with vast enjoyment, asking Mrs. I. to "pick them up", 
and flopping over with completely relaxed muscles, and great 
laughter.  Mrs. I. had to go to each one in turn, trying to 
pick him up and make him stand firm; but they all flopped 
over every time.  This became a favourite game for many 
days.  Christopher could do it particularly well, relaxing 
every muscle. 
   Then all the children sewed, making dolls' bonnets.  Tommy 
made a doll of plasticine, and sewed a bonnet on to it. 
Afterwards they played "snap" with number cards; and 
ended the afternoon with running and jumping and the game 
of "Three Blind Mice", in which they take the series 3, 2, 
1, 0, and work up again to 3 -- their own invention. 
   Priscilla was very variable in her moods tray, saying at 
one moment "I do love you.  I do love you", to Mrs, I., and 
a few moments later, "You are horrid".  She told Mrs. I., 
"You had a horrid frock on yesterday for gardening" --  
when she had called at Mrs. I.'s house in the afternoon. 
 
   May 3.  The children began to use the pulleys in the garden 
as soon as they came.  Mrs. I. gave them a large hook to 
affix at the end of the rope, and with this they hauled up 
engines, the wooden bus, and other things.  Phineas did not 
join in this, but sat down to use the colour tablets; then 
the number rods, and later the beads.  Priscilla and Dan 
came to their own room for a short time, and read postcards 
which Mrs. I. bad written and sent them.  But they were 
not very interested in the occupations of the quiet room this 
morning, and wanted to be in the garden, as it was a lovely 
day.  Priscilla did use the White's number rods for a time, 
but then wanted to do her garden, and joined Dan in digging 
and weeding. 
   Tommy found a very large old umbrella in the cloakroom, 
and made it into a "house" in the garden, hiding under it, 
carrying it about, putting it up and down with great delight. 
Then he and Alfred and Herbert discovered that the canoe- 
house was open, and spent a long time exploring its dark 
inside.  Towards the end of the morning, all the children 
modelled.  Jessica suggested making a tennis court, and
Herbert, Phineas, Alfred, Tommy and she joined in doing 
this, fixing two sticks up with plasticine for the posts of the 
net, and stringing pieces of cotton across these.  Herbert 
made one of his own, persisting steadily until he had completed 
it and cutting the cotton to the right length himself. 
   Mrs. I. gave the older children a set of dominoes.  Priscilla 
and Dan were not interested at first, but Christopher was, and 
played with Miss B., afterwards using the number rods again. 
   In the afternoon, Mrs. I. brought out a month's calendar 
for May.  Tommy, Dan and Priscilla were at once very 
interested.  Priscilla knows the names of the months, and 
told them to Dan, who does not yet know them all, but went 
eagerly through the series with her.  The weather for the first 
three days was recorded by colouring a square yellow for 
sunshine, and grey for cloud and rain.  Dan spoke of the 
date of his birthday, May 16, and counted the days until he 
found it, and marked it with his name.  He also marked the 
previous day, the Saturday, when he is to have his party. 
   The children then used some of the advanced insets, 
making equal areas with rectangles, trapezoids, etc., and were 
extremely interested.  Afterwards, they made designs in 
crayon with concentric circles.  The afternoon was ended with 
the game of "Bobby Bingo", the children saying, "Oh, 
we love it -- let's do it again". 

Fourth Week, February 1-7, 1927. 

Ages of children mentioned, on February 1, 1927: 
   Tommy (4;11), Priscilla (7;5), Dan (5;8), Conrad (6;1), 
Phineas (3;11), Jessica (4;4), Lena (4;1), Herbert (3;10), 
Alfred (5;1), Jane (10;9). 

   February 1.  The children helped to feed and clean the 
rabbits, and then joined in the engine game, three or four 
children riding round the schoolroom on the big wooden 
engine. 
   Lena and Conrad were looking at the fresh-water aquarium. 
Conrad said, "I can see the snail".  Lena said, :I can 
see it, but I wonder why it's sinking at the top!"  Conrad, 
with great scorn -- "It couldn't sink at the top (turning to 
Mrs. I.). could it? If it sinks, it goes to the bottom".  Lena 
looked at Mrs. I. questioningly, so Mrs. I. said, "Yes, if 
it sinks, it goes to the bottom".   "What does it do if it 
stays at the top?"  asked Lena.  Conrad -- "It's floating"; 
and Lena said with a happy little laugh, "It's floating". 
   Lena and Conrad then went into the garden and were 
playing with the ladders and the sand, until Miss C. and 
Phineas went out to light the bonfire.  It burnt brightly for 
a few minutes, and then as there was a good deal of damp 
straw from the rabbit hutches, the flame went out and it 
smouldered.  Phineas said a great many times, "It hasn't 
gone out when it's smoking".  Then he asked Miss C., 
"Where's the light?"  Miss C. said, "It's gone out", 
and Phineas added, "It's gone to see its mummy".  Then, 
"Match it again".  A few more shavings were found, and 
Miss C. lit it again.  Meanwhile, Jessica and Conrad were 
riding the tricycles, Conrad the smaller one, and Jessica the 
taller one, which she could hardly reach.  She could just 
manage to push it, and Conrad said very considerately, "You 
go first, Jessica, because you`re slow.  I'll come after.  I 
can catch up, because I go faster".  Then he called out 
to her in a friendly way.  "Hallo!  Mr. Penny and two 
farthings!"  She thought this a great joke, and called 
back again, "Hallo! Mr. Penny and two farthings". 
They called this to each other several times.  Phineas 
used the engine to carry sticks to the bonfire.  He asked 
Miss C. to help him in this, and when the sticks were too 
long to fit in the engine, he broke them up and fitted 
them in.  When he brought them to the fire, Lena said, "I'll 
be the fireman, and show you how to put them on".  Phineas 
did not respond to this, and put the sticks where he wanted. 
Lena took them off, to put them on in her own way, as 
"fireman".  After this had happened once or twice, Phineas 
turned to Lena and lifted his hand as if he would hit her. 
He did not hit her, but pulled her cap off.  She said, "Now 
I'll pull your cap off" -- but didn't do it.  They turned to 
the fire again quite good friends.  By this time there was 
not enough fire to catch the sticks, and Phineas asked Miss C. 
to "match it again".  Miss C. asked him to gather some 
paper or shavings, and he very carefully picked up three or 
four little bits that had fallen on the path, and arranged them 
so that they ignited.  Then he went off again with the engine, 
and tried hard to balance a ladder on it and wheel it about; 
but the ladder kept slipping off.  Miss C. asked him whether 
he would like to tie it on, and he said "Yes"; but whilst 
she was getting some string, he left the engine and went 
to see-saw.  He sang, "See-saw, Marjorie Daw". Lena, 
Jessica and Conrad joined in this, and presently the older 
children came out and joined in the see-saw play too.  Phineas 
was rather nervous for a time, and asked Miss C. to hold him 
on.  He did not like it to move fast or to jerk, and preferred 
it when the big children were not sharing it. 
   Jane asked Miss D. to tell Mrs, I. that, the previous evening, 
when they had had the mice out of the cage, one of them 
had been killed by having a brick fall on it.  Jane was very 
distressed and could not bear to tell Mrs. I. herself.  They 
had wrapped it up in a piece of paper, and now showed 
Mrs. I. the blood on its nose; they all joined in the sad tale 
of how it had happened.  They said "We're not going to 
cut it up, we're going to bury it", although there was more 
hesitation about this than on the previous occasion. 
   Jane spent a good deal of time today reading "The 
Wonder Book of Wonders".  The others of the elder group 
were also interested in this, particularly in the picture of the 
diver below the sea.  They talked about it several times among 
themselves, during the day.  Priscilla said, "I couldn't be a 
diver, I suppose".  (Apparently because she was a girl.) 
Jane said, "Oh, yes, you could; you could have lady 
divers", and turned to Mrs. I. for confirmation.  Dan said, 
"But you couldn't be a soldier!" 
   Jane went to Mrs. M. for her lesson in voice-training.  She 
does not talk much about this afterwards, but showed Mrs. I. 
the exercises she was to do.  Priscilla pasted pictures into 
the large book she had made.  (Each of the elder children 
had made a large book the previous week.)  She drew a 
design on the cover, as the others had already done. 
   Dan used the typewriter nearly all the morning, experiment- 
ing with combinations of letters and the different mechanisms. 
Priscilla had wanted to use it, but had given way to Dan. 
She had written a story on the typewriter yesterday, and 
today read it through quite easily and correctly. 
   During the morning, Jonathan the cat brought in first 
one, then another dead sparrow from the garden.  The children 
talked of whether he had killed them or found them dead, 
but could not tell which.  Some of the children wanted to 
cut them up, although Dan said, "Let's bury them".  The 
opinion in favour of cutting up prevailed, and this was done. 
The children asked Mrs. I. to open the mouth, and saw the 
tongue.  Priscilla asked, "Hasn't it any teeth?  No, it 
hasn't! Why hasn't it?"  They counted the number of its 
toes, and saw the way these clung round one's fingers.  They 
noticed the difference between the feathers on the breast and 
the wing feathers.  Mrs. I. then cut open the abdomen and 
breast.  Jane noticed with great surprise the thickness of the 
wing muscles on the breast, and then she and Priscilla said, 
"But of course it needs big muscles to fly with".  They 
then saw how long the breast bone was, and how much more 
difficult it was to get at the heart, lungs, etc., inside, than 
it had been in the case of the mouse.  They found the heart 
and liver, windpipe and foodpipe, the opening of the windpipe 
in the base of the tongue, and the external opening of the 
foodpipe, and noticed the very thick walls of the stomach. 
Before Mrs. I. began to cut it, they asked, "Has it got a 
penis?"  And when Mrs. I. replied, "No, it's a female 
sparrow", they said, "How do you know?"  She told 
them about the colour of the feathers.  They looked at them 
closely, and asked what the male would be like.  Mrs. I. 
described the black collar, and brighter general colours.  She 
then found an ovary in the bird, and when the children asked, 
"What's that?"  she told them "this is what makes the 
eggs".  They saw how the eggs would be passed down the 
foodpipe, and Jane said, "It'll have to swell, won't it?" 
Priscilla then suggested looking again at the parts of the 
dissected rabbit, and got them out of the formalin.  The 
children named the parts as they were brought out.  Jane 
cut the liver open, saying in surprise, "Oh, it's all liver 
inside the liver, isn't it?"  meaning that it was not hollow. 
Mrs. I. said, "Look more closely, and see".  She then saw 
that it was spongy and full of small holes and found also 
the gallbladder attached to it.  They then cut open the eye, 
and saw the black retina, and were able to look through the 
opening of the pupil from the inside.  They compared this 
with their own pupils, and saw that the pupil is simply the 
opening through which one looks, in the case of another 
person, on to the black curtain at the back.  They found 
the lens, and Mrs. I. told them the name.  Jane said, "Oh, 
I know about the lens in a camera", and Mrs. I. said, "Yes, 
the eye is made very much like a camera".  She asked 
what the retina was for, and Mrs. I. compared it to the 
sensitive plate, and the eye-lid to one of the shutters.  The 
children saw also the end of the windpipe in the rabbit's 
mouth, and the other end where it had been cut off above 
the lungs.  Dan did not join in the cutting up of the rabbit, 
but while he typed, he kept looking over and listening and 
joining in the conversation.  When the rabbit was put away, 
the children went downstairs, and joined in the engine game. 
   During the morning, the workmen came to replace the glass 
of the windows in the schoolroom by Vitaglass.  They made 
a mistake, and brought the opaque kind.  When the children 
saw the men putting in the opaque glass, they made strong 
protests.  "We can't see out of it, and we hate it!"  It did 
give the room a very shut-in feeling, and was of course 
changed later on to the transparent form.  The strength of 
the children's reaction was very interesting. 
   At lunch. there was a jar of cream with the fruit, and 
several of the children asked "for the pot to scrape".  Mrs. I. 
suggested that they should decide who should have it by 
putting their names in a hat and having one picked out at 
random.  They agreed to this, and accepted the choice of 
Dan in this way without any demur. 
   In the afternoon, Jane's friend Andrew came, and with 
him the children founded a "Stamp Club", inviting Mrs. I. 
to join it, as she had given Jane some stamps.  They wrote 
out the names of the members, the rules, etc., and Andrew
organised an election for the "Head" of the Club.  Then 
all voted, on paper, but the votes came out evenly divided 
between two candidates.  Andrew said "We shall have to 
get Miss D. to vote, to settle it", and went off on his cycle 
to find her.  He did not succeed, however, and so the affair 
was postponed. 
   Jane read again in "The Wonder Book of Wonders". 
Priscilla went on sewing the needlecase which she had begun 
yesterday, and which she had asked Mrs. I. to buy.  The 
price had been agreed on at 6d.  Dan was also making one, 
and he told Mrs. I. his would be 4s.  Mrs. I. said, however, 
that she would not buy it at that price.  Jane said, "No, 
it wouldn't be worth it, would it?"  Mrs. I. told Dan that 
she could probably buy one in a shop for about 6d., and 
this was in the end agreed upon as the price.  Jessica was 
modelling during this period.  First she rolled out a very long 
thin piece of plasticine, showing it to Mrs. I. as "a big 
thing".  Then she modelled a very good spoon. 
 
   February 2.  Jessica was there first, and when she had 
taken her own things off, she helped Miss C. to take hers off, 
undoing some of her coat buttons, and putting up her hands 
to help take off the coat.  She told Miss C. during this, 
"Andrew's not a girl.  He's a boy.  Mary's a girl".  (Her 
older brother and sister.) 
   When Phineas and Lena were hanging up their coats, Lena 
became interested in the labels over their pegs.  She and 
Phineas spelt out the names, with a little help in some.  Lena's 
own label had come off, and she asked Miss C. to write one 
for her.  She also wanted her name on a piece of paper 
which she put to show the place where she was "going to 
sit".  Phineas also took a piece of paper and wrote some 
letters to stand for his name.  He wrote a P, an E turned 
backwards, then several marks which did not make letters, 
then S at the end.  Jessica took a pencil and began to scribble 
on the white paint of the window-sill.  Miss C. gave her a 
piece of paper, and asked her if she would write on that 
rather than the window-sill, saying, "It's a pity to put marks 
on the white paint".  Jessica was immediately very confused 
and ashamed; she tried not to let Miss C. or anyone else 
see the marks she had made.  She covered them up with the 
piece of paper, and began to scribble very hard on the paper. 

Miss C. showed her how the marks could be cleaned off, but 
she did not want the paper moved for this purpose at first. 
Miss C. cleaned them off, and assured her that it was now 
all right, but she seemed quite ill at ease for some time. 
   To-day Mrs. S. came for rhythm and music with the little 
ones.  At first, they said they did not want to dance to-day, 
but when the music began, they responded.  Phineas wanted 
to be "a puffer and have train music", and when 
Mrs. S. said, "Would you like to be squirrels again?"  he 
at first said loudly, "No" ; but as soon as Jessica ran 
behind the cupboard to hide as a squirrel, he joined her and 
Lena.  They chose a place to hide in where there was not 
very much room, and this led to a little pushing and 
squabbling before the music began.  They crept out to the 
"quiet" music, and when there was a loud chord they 
turned and ran back to hide.  This seemed be the part 
they liked best.  They then played "Little Jack Homer". 
Then Lena put a waste-paper basket upside down over her 
head and shoulders.  Mrs. S. asked her if she would like 
to be "a lion in a cage", and suggested that Phineas and 
Jessica should be "mice coming to gnaw at the cage".  She 
played the quiet music during this.  The children enjoyed 
creeping up to the cage, but evidently had no notion of the 
relative size and strength of mice and lions, for Jessica sat 
up and pushed the lion over!  During this, Conrad played 
outside alone, until Miss C. went out with him, leaving the 
little ones to go on with the music with Mrs. S.  Conrad 
wanted to ride on Dan's new engine, but seemed to think 
that Dan (who was working upstairs) would not like this. 
He said he would ride the tricycle, but wanted Miss C. to 
push him.  She agreed for a little time, but actually he 
pedalled so hard that she had little pushing to do.  It seemed 
to be just the gesture of friendliness on her part that he 
wanted.  He was lonely, but did not want to join the elder 
group upstairs, nor the little ones doing music.  He and 
Miss C. walked round the garden together and watched a 
bird singing on a tree, and looked at the bulbs coming up, 
and the catkins on a tree. 
   The younger ones then went out into the garden, and tried 
to make a bonfire.  The sticks and straw were very wet, and 
there was very little paper or dry stuff to start it with, so it 
smoked a lot.  Phineas asked Miss C. over and over again 
to "match it".  He understood quite well that it was too 
damp to burn properly, and tried to find some dry stuff to get 
it started, but there was none about.  Later in the morning 
he found the old discarded gasfire.  There was a small piece 
of pipe attached to it, and two taps.  Phineas wanted to 
"light" it.  He showed Miss C. where he wanted her to 
apply the match, and turned the taps himself.  He tried all 
the holes in front in turn, and the place for the kettle at the 
top, all several times over.  Then he said, "Try the next 
side", and they applied the match at the back, to every 
hole they could find.  Then he asked, "Why won't it burn?" 
"Because there's no gas in the pipes", she said.  "Why 
isn't there any gas?"  he asked.  Then he thought that if 
he could make the pipe reach as far as the wall, there would 
be gas and he could light it.  He found an extra piece of 
piping and fixed it on to that attached to the stove, but it 
would not quite reach to the wall.  He asked Miss C., "Will 
you make some gas and put it in the pipes?"  She told 
him she could not.  He spent three-quarters of an hour in 
complete absorption in this problem. 
   During this, the other younger children were playing in the 
sand-pit.  Conrad was digging near the pulley.  Jessica had 
been playing in that place the day before with her ladder, 
and she began to cry out in a distressed voice that she wanted 
to put her ladder there again.  Conrad seemed to be busy 
constructing something, working quite hard, and said, "No, 
you can't come here".  Miss C. explained to Jessica that 
that was Conrad's place just now, and tried to persuade her 
to have her ladder on the other side of the pulley but she 
cried and said, "No, I want the other place".  Almost at 
once, Conrad said, "All right, silly billy!  I'll dig over 
here", and moved to the opposite side.  He left a big hole, 
and Jessica filled it up with Miss C.'s help, and put her ladder 
there.  Then she began to build a castle just by it.  Soon 
Conrad left his digging and began to use the pulley.  He 
wanted to let the bucket down.  There was room for it to come 
down without touching Jessica's castle, but she thought there 
wasn't and that she would have to move, and she screamed 
in protest that the bucket was "not to come down".  Conrad 
would not give way, and they struggled with the bucket for 
a minute or two, he from above, she from below.  Then 
Miss C. persuaded her to stand aside for a moment, and 
showed her that the bucket could come down without spoiling 
her castle.  She was not very satisfied, but let Conrad pull 
it up and down without further trouble.  Before long, Conrad 
called to her to "fill the bucket with sugar".  She asked, 
"What shall I put in it really?"  He said, "Sand", and 
after that they played happily together, hauling up buckets 
of sand, and digging. 
   Mrs. S.'s boy of barely two years was there, and played in 
the sand-pit, rather tending to walk on the things the others 
had made.  They all seemed to realise how little he was, and 
that he did not know he was doing this, and showed no 
resentment, although they told him "You're spoiling our 
castles". 
   The four elder children each had new writing-pads this 
morning, with envelopes of the kind they always call their 
"best".  Dan still had part of his old pad, and danced 
about rhythmically in delight, saying over and over again, 
"Oh, I'm so pleased I've got two best! I'm so pleased I've 
got two best!"  with a dancing gesture. 
   Jane had her music lesson, and later all the older children 
joined in nursery rhymes with the younger ones, clustered 
round the piano with Mrs. S.  They laughed at Lena because 
she was always a long way behind the others, ending up a 
whole phrase after they did.  Then the elder ones had their 
own lesson in eurhythmics.  
   Priscilla typed out additions to the list of books in the 
school library, copying them correctly from the books them- 
selves.  Dan then pretended to be "Mr. Woodward, mending 
the typewriter".  Later on, they used the drilling machine 
in the carpentry room, drilling several different sized holes in 
pieces of wood.  Then they drew and painted and cut out 
paper dolls in different costume, and pasted pictures in their 
books. 
   In the afternoon, they collected old putty from the workmen 
who were putting in the Vitaglass, and modelled with it.  They 
all seemed to find great satisfaction in the mere handling of 
the putty.  They wanted more putty, and asked the workmen 
to sell them some new.  The workmen promised to do so the 
next day. 
 
   February 3.  The older children bought some new putty 
from the workmen, and modelled with it.  They made 
"cakes" and "pies", elaborate two-tiered cakes with icing 
and played at having a meal, with real knives and forks, etc. 
Then they put the putty away in their cupboards. 
   During the modelling of the cakes, etc., Priscilla had lent 
her overall to Dan, as he was the cook.  Mrs. I., seeing her 
without an overall when she was using the putty, asked her 
where it was.  She smiled, but did not reply.  Mrs. I. then 
saw that Dan had it on, and all laughed together.  Then both 
children, after whispering together, tried to persuade Mrs. I. 
that this overall was "really" Dan's, and that Priscilla 
had "left hers at home".  They said several times, very 
emphatically, "Priscilla's is at home to-day.  They are both 
exactly alike.  We bought them together at the same shop". 
They said, "Its real".  When Mrs. I. laughed and said, 
"Is it?"  they said, "Don't contradict.  Don't you believe? 
Do you believe it!"  and shouted vehemently, saying, "It 
is, it is real!"  Mrs. I. laughed at them, and said, "Shouting 
doesn't make it true, does it!"  But they went on, "It is 
true.  Do you believe it!"  trying to hide their laughter. 
Soon after this, Priscilla was out of the room for a moment, 
when Dan's mother came in.  She saw Dan in the overall, 
and not knowing what had happened, she said spontaneously, 
"Whose overall have you got on, Dan?"  Dan replied 
without thought, "Priscilla's"--and then pulled himself up 
with a jerk, clapped his hand over his mouth as if to stop 
his words, and looked at Mrs. I. with laughter in his eyes. 
She laughed too, and he said, "Oh, Mrs. I., I said it then, 
didn't I? But it is really Priscilla's". When Priscilla came 
back into the room, Dan asked Mrs. I. to tell her what he 
had said, and Mrs. I. repeated the conversation, imitating 
Dan's gesture.  They both enjoyed the joke hugely, and had 
the story repeated several times, and told to the other 
children. 
   The children drew and painted more paper dolls in different 
historical costumes, Jane showing them designs from a book 
of costumes.  Priscilla wrote and used the typewriter, copying 
out various stories which the children had composed about 
events in the school.  Dan also copied some of these, but 
with more effort. 
   A visitor came to the school, and talked to the children 
about what they were doing.  They responded freely to him. 
He asked, "What do you do with the gas?"   "Oh, we 
burn things, and we bend glass", said Dan.  "But glass 
wont bend, will it?"  Dan replied, "Oh, yes, that will", 
pointing to a long tube. 
   The children were looking at pictures of ships, and someone 
suggested how pleasant it would be to have the school on a 
ship.  The children fell in eagerly with this idea, and worked 
it out in all details, in their talk.  Dan said then, "But what 
I should like best of all would be to have the school in an 
airship! The airship would be better than the ship, because 
with it you could go over the dry land, but the ship would 
only go on water".  Then he added, "You can go round 
the world on a ship, because the river goes all round the 
world".  But presently he said, "We can't, can we!  We 
couldn't have the school inside the airship, because it would 
be all round, and we would have to walk up the sides!" 
Mrs. I. suggested that "perhaps we could put straight walls 
inside and a straight floor".  Dan, "Oh, yes!"  The visitor 
pointed out that the ceiling of the room the children were in 
slanted very much, and said, "You wouldn't mind it being 
a bit round as well.  It's all right, isn't it?"  Dan agreed. 
Priscilla then said, "If you put walls inside the airship, you 
couldn't look out -- you couldn't get to the window!"  Mrs. I. 
looked pointedly at the walls of the room they were in, which 
had dormer windows.  "Oh, yes", they said, "it could 
be all right to have it like that". 
   Earlier in the morning, Dan had told Mrs. I. what had 
happened the day before.  He had been absentmindedly 
hitting the glass aquarium with his teaspoon as he stood beside 
it talking, and it had suddenly broken, the water flooding 
all over the schoolroom.  He described it in his vivid and 
dramatic way.  The children asked Mrs. I., "Please get 
another, will you?"  Mrs. I. told them she did not know 
whether she had enough money to get another, and they asked 
how much it would cost.  She told them the price of the 
broken one. 
   Conrad made a small book for himself, of the kind which 
the older children have made, typing stories on the pages. 
He asked Miss C. to help him put the eyelets in the holes 
for the thread. 
   Jane worked out various fractions and their equivalents, 
e.g.. 8/16th, and so on, and did various additions, using 
the advanced Montessori material and writing the results down. 
   To-day and for a few days now, Dan has been talking about 
his "daddy coming home", and has said, "He's got to 
give me a hundred pounds".  Sometimes it was "twenty 
guineas".   He and Priscilla talked about this a lot.   Dan 
said, "If he doesn't give me a hundred pounds, I shall 
hate him". 
   Lena, when taking out her pocket handkerchief, told the 
others, "I have four pockets".  Jessica asked, "Where's 
four?"  Lena replied, "I've got two in my blue coat and 
two in my jersey.  That's four, isn't it?" 
   The younger children were all digging in the sand-pit.  
They were getting in each other's way and quarrelling a little 
about their castles. Lena said something to Phineas which 
annoyed him, and he said, "If you do, I'll hit you".  Lena, 
"I'll cut your hands off!"  Jessica, "So will I".  Lena, 
"I'll cut off one and you can cut off the other".  Miss C. 
suggested their drawing lines in the sand to mark off a division 
for each, and they did this.  But presently they began to 
co-operate and do things jointly.  When Phineas had finished 
a small castle, he saw Lena making a fence, and asked 
Miss C. to make a fence for him, on the wall.  He handed 
up trowels full of sand, and Miss C. was to pat them into a 
fence.  There was a path with a fence on each side.  Then 
this was widened into "a likkle likkle garden", and then 
narrowed to a path again.  Then he went back to the castle.  
He made it very smooth all over, and said, "It's got no 
windows.  I'm not going to have any windows".  Miss C. 
asked, "Is there any light inside?"  He replied, "Yes, 
there's plenty of light.  There's electric lights; they're lovely 
ones, all coloured -- coloured lights". 
   When the children had the mid-morning fruit, Phineas 
wanted to cut his own orange.  The knife slipped a good 
many times, but he still persevered.  In the end, he cut his 
own finger a very little.  He called out in dismay, and then 
said, "There's blood".  Miss C. said, "Never mind, I'll 
tie it up", and he replied, "I didn't cry, did I?"  He 
had it tied up, and then went back to the orange.  He then 
noticed the jar of paste which the older children had made 
for pasting pictures into their books, and wanted to stir it 
with a spoon.  He brought a spoon that was very much 
smaller than the jar.  He put it in as far as it would go, and 
then asked Miss C., "Is it the bottom?"  When she replied, 
"No", he said, "When is the bottom?"  Then, "It's 
jelly, isn't it?  Is it jam?"  Then he took it into the 
schoolroom to make paper chains.  As the finger of his left 
hand was tied up, he used the scissors with one hand -- the 
first time he has been able to cut with one hand.  He had a 
pair of scissors that worked easily, and managed to cut quite 
well.  He made four largish paper rings.  In making the
next, he cut a little crookedly, and then said, "Oh, I'll make 
little ones", and cut small narrow strips, doing four at once.  
Miss C. did the sticking, as he had only one hand to use. 
These small links seemed to please him very much, and he 
said, "I'll make some very small", and cut four pieces much 
smaller still.  He was most delighted with these, and said 
several times, "Aren't they tiny little ones?  Aren't they 
sweet?" 
   Jessica and Lena were playing "ship".  They brought a 
mattress down from the rest gallery, and put it on the floor.  
Then they balanced a blackboard over this on some chairs, 
for the top.  Conrad said to them, "I'm going to play in 
your ship.  I'll come and play in your ship", in a domineering 
tone but the others did not seem to mind, and let him 
join them.  He began to act as the Captain.  Jessica was a 
"cabin girl", and Lena a sailor, Conrad deciding all this.  
He dropped his domineering tone when they received him 
so pleasantly, and all co-operated very happily for nearly 
an hour, Conrad asked the cabin-girl to make tea, and 
decided when it was time to go to bed and when time to get 
up.  Soon Phineas asked, "Can I come in your ship now? 
I shall join it", and he began to bring more chairs to extend 
from the place where he was already sitting, doing the paper 
chains, to their ship.  Jessica at first shouted "No", but 
just then Mrs. I. and a visitor came into the room, and her 
attention was taken by them, and Phineas went on with his 
arrangement.  They all then used the row of chairs as a 
sort of gangway or passage, and soon the captain brought 
them all out on it for their "morning swim".  He kept a 
proper sequence of the day, and when Lena wanted to go 
to bed again now he said, "You can't go to bed yet, you 
haven't had lunch". 
   They had a large wooden aeroplane which one of the older 
children had made, as part of their ship.  Mrs. I. took it up 
for a moment to show to the visitor, and Lena called out 
"That supports the roof!"  They played at "ship" for 
the rest of the morning. 
 
   February 4.  Whilst Jessica and Lena were taking off their 
coats, Phineas ran up and put his arms round Lena, saying, 
"I'm hiding from Conrad".  Lena said, "I shall hide too", 
and Jessica, "I shall hide too".  Lena, "I shall hide across 
the seas".  Jessica, "I shall hide across the seas too".  
Lena, "I shall hide in Australia".  Jessica, "I shall hide 
in Australia too.  I shall hide in Switzerland, and go ski-ing".
(The children knew that Miss C. came from Australia and 
Jessica's father had just been to Switzerland.)  Phineas ran 
and put his arms round Lena again, and said, "I'll love 
you, Lena".  She pushed him a little, as he was rather 
vigorous in his affection, and then there were threats to 
hit each other.  Phineas turned to Miss C. and said, "She
scratched me".  Then he tried to scratch her too.  Miss C. 
suggested their going outside to play, and all ran out and 
began to play happily in the sand-pit.  
   It was a very warm sunny day, and all the children spent 
the whole morning in the garden.  Dan and Conrad played 
in the sand-pit with the little ones for a time, Dan planning 
a very elaborate castle.  He said, "My castle is going to be 
for Jessica.  I like her so much". 
   Phineas and Lena were making castles on the wall above 
the sandpit.  Phineas, was patting his into shape.  Presently 
he poked holes in the side with his finger, saying, "Look at 
all my windows".  Then he asked Lena, "Do you like my 
castle, Lena?"  She replied, "No".  Phineas, "Why?" 
Lena, "I hate the windows".  Phineas, "I'm going to 
cover the windows and smoothed them all out".  Then he 
made a hole in the top with his finger, and called out, "Look 
at the smoke! Look at the smoke!"  Then he turned to 
Miss C. and said, "This is the chimney.  Can you see the 
smoke coming out?"  Then he began to dance on his toes 
and wave his hands about and sing, "Bah, bah, bah".  The 
notes were approximately soh, me, doh, in regular rhythm, 
followed by a rest, seven times over.  
   Priscilla joined them for a time.  They were all going to 
play "fathers".  Lena was to be called "Conrad", 
Priilla "Norman", Dan "Allen".  Conrad was to be the 
father.  Meanwhile, however, he was carting about loads 
of sand, and Dan was "his workman".  When Priscilla 
suggested this game, and asked Dan to join her, he said, 
"Wait a minute, I must take this to Conrad".  When he had 
got his load ready, and taken it along, he said to Conrad, 
"You can be the father and the workman out here, and we 
can be your children".  Priscilla was to be the mother.  She 
and Dan and Jessica carried three wooden beds, with the 
mattresses and pillows, down from the rest-gallery to the 
garden, without any help from the grown-ups, co-operating 
excellently.  They arranged them in the summer-house as a 
"nursing home", and spent all the rest of the morning in 
this play.  Dan and Jessica were sick babies, and Priscilla 
the mother.  They had the gramophone in the hospital.  
   Priscilla made them lie on the beds in the sun, and every 
time Jessica raised her head, she called out, "You are not 
to look, Jessica, lie down!"  Presently Jessica seemed to 
become sleepy with the sun, and lay down quietly and con- 
tentedly the rest of the morning.  Phineas sat on a box and 
watched them, and made remarks about their play.  He called 
out many times, "Don't smack her (Jessica), Priscilla!" 
And said quietly, "They're wood beds.  The beds are made 
of wood", several times.  During this he was eating his 
orange, in which he is always much slower than any of the 
others.  Whilst he was eating his first half, Dan, who had 
long finished his orange, pointed to the second half and asked,
"Can I have it?"  "Yes", said Phineas.  Dan, "Oh, 
thanks.  I do love you". 
   Lena spent a long time riding the tricycle.  Conrad and 
Jane were modelling with the putty.  
   At one time in the nursing-home play, Priscilla said, 
"Jessica, pretend to be sick all over your bed".  Jessica 
did not do this, but Dan did.  
   When Phineas had finished his orange, he went inside with 
Miss C. to wash his hands and the plate.  He liked washing 
the plate, and asked for something else to wash.  There was 
a mug near, which Miss C. gave him.  He spent nearly 
twenty minutes slowly pushing the mop in and out, watching 
the water come up round it, and saying, "Look at the 
bubbles".  The mop fitted fairly tightly, and he experi- 
mented with the suction as he pulled it, and noticed the way 
the water came up round it as he pushed it in.  Later on, he 
and Lena and Conrad used the hammer and nails.  Jane 
would not join in the imaginative play this morning, but 
helped Mrs. I. give all the rabbit hutches, etc., a thorough 
cleaning out, and re-arranged the rabbits; and then gardened.  
 
   February 7.  The elder children pasted pictures in their 
large books.  Conrad spent a large part of the morning 
upstairs with the elder children to-day.  Dan cut out a very 
large number of pictures from illustrated papers, and asked 
Mrs. I. to paste them in.  She agreed to do this; as he was 
making a great deal of effort in cutting them out.  He said to 
her, "You've got to do many, many more -- thousands and 
thousands, you've got to do".  Mrs. I. laughed at him, 
and said, "I suppose what you mean to say is -- "  Dan, 
quickly, "I want you to do them!  Yes!" 
   Jane spent most of the morning reading one of the Dr.  
Doolittle books, and also typed a long letter to her mother.  
   The previous afternoon the children had made, with Miss 
D.'s help, various swords and daggers of wood.  There was 
a good deal of flourishing of these this morning.  Dan and 
Conrad dressed up in their "pirate's clothes".  They planned 
to go downstairs and "frighten Lena".  Priscilla wanted to 
join in this too, gloating over the prospect.  Mrs. I. would 
not let Priscilla go, as she had not made any swords; and 
Mrs. I. told Dan, "Will you please stop if you see that Lena 
is really frightened.  If you go on to frighten her really, I 
shall take the swords away".  Dan said, "Sometimes she 
likes it, she's not always frightened", which was quite true.  
He and Conrad went downstairs then.  
   Phineas and Lena were looking at the mustard and cress.  
They were surprised to see how much they had grown.  
Phineas asked, "What are they called?  What makes them 
grow?  Does the water?"  Then they looked at the mice 
for some time, opening the little door to see them in their 
nest.  Then Phineas went to the spinning wheel, and wanted
to know "Why won't it work?"   Miss C.  showed him 
that the treadle was not fastened to the shank, and said she 
would get some string to tie them together.  Whilst this was 
being done, Conrad came into the room with the wooden 
sword and two daggers.  The others wanted to have some, 
and he said boastfully "I'll make you one each".  He 
asked Miss C.  for some wood for this, and they began to 
say some up together.  He then told Jessica, "I'll make 
you a sword if you'll give me sixpence".  Jessica replied,  
"I couldn't give you a real sixpence".  "Oh then", he 
said, "that's no good".  Phineas and Jessica both started 
to make swords too.  Conrad then relented, and said he would 
make Jessica one "for nothing".  Lena picked up a stick, 
which she held out in front of her as a sword, and Phineas 
ran into it.  It was entirely an accident, and Lena at once 
dropped her sword, but Phineas was angry and cried.  And 
the others said, "Now, we won't fight Phineas, we'll only 
fight Lena".  Lena ran and clung on to Miss C., really 
frightened; but soon they were friends again, and she was 
holding a piece of wood in one hand for Phineas to saw, 
whilst she held on to Miss C. with the other.  When it was 
sawn, she made some movement he did not want, and he 
picked up his little piece of wood and hit her.  Miss C. took 
his piece of wood away, which made him cry.  He was very 
angry with Miss C. and Lena, but it reassured Lena when 
the stick was taken away.  Miss C. said to her, "Wouldn't 
you like a stick to go and play with Conrad and Jessica? 
They're only playing.  If they really hit you, I shall take 
away their swords".  She went away quite bravely to pre- 
tend to fight them, and in a few moments they had put down 
their swords and were beginning to play "ship" together.  
   Phineas sat down at a table to make paper chains, and 
once or twice Conrad ran out of the ship to pretend to fight 
Phineas, which rather annoyed him, as he was absorbed in 
his own work and did not want to be interrupted.  Jessica 
and Lena came out of the ship to swim on the floor, and 
they played very happily all the rest of the morning.  
   Mrs. I. suggested to Priscilla that they should write some 
thing more in Priscilla's own story-book, and asked if she 
would like to tell about her mice at home.  She agreed 
eagerly, and dictated to Mrs. I. four and a half pages, an 
account of an incident among her family of mice at home.  
She wanted to continue indefinitely, and only stopped because 
Mrs. I. had to do something for the other children.  
   In the afternoon, the elder children had their eurhythmics 
class.  Priscilla and Dan thought it was "not fair" that 
Jane should join in this, as well as having her individual 
music lesson, although they agreed that they could do more 
things when there were more children.  During the eurhyth- 
mics, Conrad (who will not join in this) asked Mrs. I. to 
help him make a large book like the others had made.  They 
did it together, Conrad doing much less than the others had 
done for themselves, and relying on Mrs. I.'s help much 
more.  He cut out and pasted in a number of pictures, 
apparently quite indifferent to the content of the pictures.  
They were pasted in very clumsily, overlapping, and sticking 
over the edges.  

                          CHAPTER EIGHT 
 
                      SUMMARY OF ACTIVITIES 

   For the purposes of a rough summary, the different activities 
of the children can be grouped under the following heads: 
      1.    Physical exercise and practice of bodily skills. 
      2.    Rhythmic movement, music and song. 
      3.    Dramatic expression, stories and verse. 
      4.    Spontaneous make-believe. 
      5.    Handwork. 
      6.    Drawing and painting. 
      7.    Reading and writing. 
      8.    Number, and geometrical and other formal material.
      9.    Practical responsibilities. 
      10.   Gardening, and care of animals. 
      11.   Interest in everyday facts, and scientific experiment. 
      12.   Excursions. 
   It must be remembered, however, that these different pur- 
suits were not distinct in the children's own minds, and that 
in fact they overlap and blend at many points.  For instance, 
the first four kinds of activity constantly merge into each 
other; and the handwork would on some occasions fit into 
the category of interest in everyday facts, whilst on others 
if would be better described as make-believe. 
 
            1.  PHYSICAL EXERCISE AND PRACTICE OF 
                         BODILY SKILLS 
 
FIRST YEAR.  (a) Indoors.  A great deal of running round 
the schoolroom as "engines",  "motors", "express" or 
"goods" trains.  This was sometimes quite free and indi- 
vidual, the boys having a spontaneous impulse to run round 
with any picture or model they had made.  Very often it 
was as a group, in response to suitable music.  (See next 
section.)  The children pinned on numbers, names of historical 
engines, or names of places the trains were going to. 
   Games of balancing, stretching and jumping; skipping 
with a rope; "catch me", and ball games, on wet days. 
   Swarming up pillar under gallery, and sliding down; using 
cross-bars of roof for swinging from and moving along with 
hands.  
 
   (b) Outdoors.  Running round garden as "engines",
"coaches", express trains", and so on.  The children 
never seemed to weary of this.  Several would "hook on" 
as coaches to another's engine 
   "Follow my leader" marches, carrying tall hollyhock 
sticks, flags, drum, etc.  
   Hopping and skipping; skipping and jumping with rope; 
tug-of-war; swinging each other in hammock; improvised 
see-saw with planks on tree-trunks.  
   Climbing on wall, on railings of steps, on step-ladder, on 
trees; jumping off wall, step-ladder, stone pedestal.  
   Jumping over tree-trunks, into sand-pit, across sand-pit 
from one side to the other; balancing on planks across 
sand-pit; sliding down boards at various angles.  
   Pulling each other round garden on improvised "sleigh". 
   Using tops, hoops, scooter, tricycle; throwing and catching 
balls; football; punchball fixed in summer-house.  
   Digging; carrying pails of sand and water.  Bathing in 
sand-pit in summer.  
 
SECOND YEAR.  The activities of the first year continued, 
with the natural differences due to a year's growth.  There 
was more ambitious jumping -- down the school steps, over a 
rope, and horizontal jumping from the raised platform, the 
distances jumped by each child being marked on the floor 
with chalk.  The children often ran round on chalk lines 
which they drew themselves.  They played the game of 
"being made of wood", moving very stiffly, or "made of 
plasticine", with muscles all relaxed.  
   In the garden, they practised somersaults, and much more 
ambitious tree-climbing.  They had the see-saw, two tricycles, 
and a "motor-car" with pedals; and larger sliding-boards, 
in addition to the things mentioned for the first year.  
 
THIRD YEAR.  There was distinctly less running round as 
"engines", etc. this year, perhaps because there was now a 
greater variety of things to use in physical play.  A Junglegym 
was set up in the garden, and was in constant use by the 
children of every age.  The tricycles and fairy cycles were 
much used.  There were a number of small light ladders, as 
well as two or three larger ones, for climbing up to the higher 
trees, the summer-house roof, and the gallery in the school- 
room.  The high horizontal bars across the roof of the 
schoolroom were in great demand.  Toboggans were made 
and used on the Fens in the winter.  Some football, tennis 
and croquet was played by the older children, besides all the 
activities mentioned in other years -- skipping, jumping, tug-of- 
war, running, swinging, and the see-saw, etc.  The children 
in residence had now another large garden for their games 
and tree-climbing, out of the ordinary school hours.  
 
 
            2.  RHYTHMIC MOVEMENT, MUSIC AND SONG 
 
FIRST YEAR.  The children ran round the schoolroom a 
great deal to music, (a) as engines, aeroplanes, etc.  They 
learnt to stop and start with the music and changed from 
"express" to "slow" trains, etc., as the music changed; 
(b) with rhythmic movement, according to music, skipping, 
hopping; very slow steps; tip-toe, "flying", creeping; 
swinging arms, running in a spiral, marching.  They would 
ask for particular tunes to move to, "the parade one", "the 
soldier one", "the skipping one", "a galloping one", 
"the running one", and so on.  We had two or three 
"sleeping tunes", for resting to at intervals -- when these 
began, the children would gradually slow down their move- 
ments, and lie down, keeping very still until the music changed 
again to a vigorous rhythm.  They loved the "sleeping one" 
and always took it dramatically.  
   Various finger-games, e.g., "Shut them, open", were 
enjoyed.  The children used drums, trumpets, tambourines, a 
mouth-organ, as a "band". 
   They often asked for the piano to be played whilst they 
were modelling or sewing, and learnt to recognise various 
melodies, nursery rhymes, dances, marches, etc.  They named 
many of these according to their own fancies, "the hurdy- 
gurdy one"  "the hurrah one"  "the Sunday one", and 
so on; and "the Russian one" (a Trepak dance of Heller's) 
always made them laugh with delight.  They joined in the 
singing of many nursery rhymes and traditional game --  
"London Bridge", "Oranges and Lemons", "John Peel", 
"Mulberry Bush", etc.  When they made "boats" with the 
chairs, they would ask for the "boat-songs" -- either the 
Canadian Boat-song, or "Speed, Bonny Boat".  They would 
ask for a "Goodnight song", one of various lullabies, when 
they were sitting quietly in a make-believe house. 
 
SECOND YEAR.  There was less running round as "engines", 
and much more rhythmic movement.  The game of "leaders" 
was often played, sometimes as a "band" with drums, 
trumpets, etc., but more often for rhythmic arm and body 
movements, skipping, "flying", "galloping", etc. 
   The nursery rhymes and traditional songs were again 
enjoyed, and the children joined in them more freely. 
"Simple Simon", "Looby Loo", "The Jolly Miller", 
"Nuts in May", "Hushabye", "The Lion and the 
Unicorn", "Three Blind Mice", "One Man Went to 
Mow", "Old Roger", were among the favourites.  One 
boy invented a singing game, "Here we go diving", in 
which all the children took part whilst a particular melody 
was played on the piano. 
   The children often asked for music whilst they were model- 
ling, sewing, etc., or sitting in their boats or houses 
and listened to it discriminatingly -- Scarlatti, Haydn (Ox 
Minuet), Bach (Two-part Inventions), Mendelssohn, Schumann. 
   An H.M.V. portable gramophone was provided this year, 
and even the younger children learnt to use it themselves. 
The children very often danced to it -- the Scotch Folk Dance 
records, and the "Wooden Soldiers" being great favourites. 
   The Montessori bells were also provided, and occasionally 
used. 
 
THIRD YEAR.  The children this year had definite teaching 
from a trained teacher of eurhythmics.  She took them in 
two groups, adapting her methods to their respective ages. 
Besides this, there were all the ordinary running, rhythmic 
movement and dancing (e.g., the hornpipe) to the piano 
and the gramophone, and the usual "band-playing", 
marches, etc. 
 
 
3.  DRAMATIC EXPRESSION, STORIES, AND VERSE 
 
FIRST YEAR.  Stories were told to the children when resting 
after lunch, or sitting in the garden; stories of animals, some 
of the traditional fairy tales, and of real events in the world. 
(Eg., of how a great storm had blown down a large crane, 
or tales of ships, of travellers, of Channel swimming, and 
so on.) The children themselves often told stories, either 
ones they had been given at home (such as "Shock- 
headed Peter",  "Puss-in-Boots"), or ones they invented on 
the spot. 
   The children had a very strong impulse to the dramatic 
expression of all their experience -- whether stories or verse, 
nursery rhymes, or things that really happened. 
   They were very fond of giving a ritualised dramatic form 
to amusing or emotional incidents that happened in the school, 
or things they had seen on the way to school; and sometimes 
they would go through these a dozen or twenty times.  For 
example, on 10.2.25, when sitting down to model, Dan had 
been offered a certain chair by Miss B.  He was in a contrary 
mood, and would not take it.  When Frank took it, Dan 
wanted it at once and screamed and cried, "I want it". 
Frank said, "Shall I have it for a short time and you 
later?"  Dan replied, "I want it now".  He remained 
sullen for a long time, but later on thawed and joined in the 
modelling.  Presently, when Frank left the chair, Dan took 
it and said to Mrs. I., "now you can't sit beside Miss B.". 
Mrs. I. said with a smile, "I want to", and the following 
dialogue then ensued: 
   Dan:  "You can't sit beside Miss B.". 
   Mrs. I.:  "But I want to". 
   "But you can't." 
   "Perhaps I can after a short time." 
   "No, not at all." 
   "Perhaps I can after a long time." 
   "No, never, you can't ever sit beside her." 
   "Perhaps I can after a very long time".  Mrs. I said. 
   "No", he replied, "NEVER, never, NEVER!" 
   Then he asked her again to say it.  He said, "Say you 
want to sit beside Miss B.", and the whole dialogue was 
repeated eight or ten times, at Dan's request.) 
   All the nursery rhymes and traditional tales were dramatised 
spontaneously and delightfully -- e.g., "Jack and Jill", 
"Humpty-Dumpty", "Little Boy Blue", "Red Riding 
Hood", "Grandmother Grey", "Dr. Faustus", "Puss- 
in-Boots", "The House that Jack built", etc. 

SECOND YEAR.  There was a great deal of the most delightful 
free dramatisation of nursery rhymes and poems.  "Simple 
Simon", "Tom the Piper", "Baa Baa", "Black Sheep", 
"Twinkle Twinkle, Little Star", "Blacky Tops", "Miss 
Muffitt", and others.  The children played these out 
dramatically whilst Mrs. I. sang and played them on the 
piano. 
   In verse, they had "Wynken, Blynken and Nod", and 
many of the poems from "When We Were Very Young", 
which they greatly enjoyed.  These, too, were freely drama- 
tised with great gusto.  Many elaborate dramatic games were 
invented, and a number of real incidents were acted out 
over and over again, as described in the first year. 
 
THIRD YEAR.  Nursery rhymes continued to give pleasure 
to the younger children; and were often dramatised as 
before, sometimes freely sometimes in the eurhythmics class. 
Some of the poems from "Peacock Pie", "A Child's Garden 
of Verse", and others such as "The Revenge", "The 
Beggar Maid", etc.; and stories from the books of Cherry 
Kearton and Seton Thompson were read aloud to some of 
the older children.  The older ones also found much interest 
in such books as  "The History of Everyday Things", "The 
World's Railways", "The Wonder Book of Wonders", 
various books of the Zoo, a volume on the history of "The 
Sailing Ship",  Belloc's "Stane Street", the various Dr. 
Doolittle Books, and "Black Beauty". 
   Two or three times the children organised a "circus", 
training for it beforehand, and inviting the staff, the parents 
and their friends to come as an audience.  Programmes were 
written and illustrated.  The shows included various acrobatic 
"stunts" on the ladders and horizontal bars, "trick-riding" 
and "speed-riding" on the tricycles and bicycles, and various 
improvised dramatic incidents, some comic, some tragic, such 
as a great storm at sea, and a shipwreck of a steamer, with 
the passengers and crew "all drowning in the water". 
Jonathan, the tamest tabby cat imaginable, appeared in the 
character of "a fierce untamable lynx of the woods".  The 
children had trained him to walk up and down the ladders, 
and to run round and round the schoolroom after a trailing 
piece of raffia fastened on the back of the tricycle; he played 
his part admirably. 

                 4.  SPONTANEOUS MAKE-BELIEVE. 
 
FIRST YEAR.  The first form of make-believe to appeal 
was playing at "shops"; sometimes each child had a shop, 
sometimes several children joined in one.  Any and all of 
the school material was put in the shop to sell, and shells 
or counters were used as money.  Sometimes the "shop- 
keepers" would "be out", or "fast asleep", when the 
customers arrived, and had to be wakened up with loud 
knocking.  Many details of this kind were freshly improvised 
from day to days in all these imaginative games. 
   Chairs and tables with rugs and cushions were often made 
into "cubby holes", houses, steamships, boats, battleships, 
aeroplanes, motor-cars, motor-bicycles, buses, corridor trains, 
gnomes and fairies' houses, and fairy godmothers' palaces, 
fire-engines and fire-stations, etc.  With each of these, there 
would be long elaborate plays, the children acting out the 
appropriate characters with dramatic absorption.  Sometimes 
the whole schoolroom would be turned into a battleship, and 
every boy would have a stick as a gun, and there would 
be "heavy firing" and many dramatic sounds of "Bang, 
Bang", etc.  Or each child would have his own house, 
carrying on his modelling, painting, writing and drawing in 
it, arranging telephones from one house to another, making 
appointments for visits at a certain time (using the real clock),
modelling crockery, cakes, etc. for the parties, and going long 
journeys to visit friends in one of the other houses, e.g., "at 
Hunstanton", in a motor or train or bus driven by others 
of the children.  Or one of the houses would get on fire, and 
the firemen would be telephoned for, the fire-engine come, 
and all help with hose and ladder to put the fire out.  Some 
of the fire-engines would be horse-drawn, and some motor. 
Or the schoolroom would be the sea, and all would swim 
about on the floor, and fish with improvised rods or a net 
made from a (real) old tennis net.  (The grown-ups being 
told either that they were drowning or that they were 
"mermaids".) 
   When the children were trains and engines, there would be 
an elaborate system of crossing-gates, signals, turn-tables, 
embankments, bridges, tunnels, etc., either made with chairs 
or represented dramatically by some of the children and, 
of course, guards and drivers.  Sometimes there would be 
dramatic "collisions", and the "breakdown gangs" had 
to be sent for to repair the broken engines. 
   Sometimes a tower or house was built up, and the game 
was to pretend to be wicked men coming to knock it 
down, the grown-ups having to say pleadingly or crossly, 
"No, no" as the children ran past.  Then the "wicked 
men" had to be "put in prison" by "policemen" --  
sometimes children, sometimes grown-ups, having this part 
assigned to them.  Giants, ogres, fairies, gnomes, were often 
about and different animals -- tigers "coming to bite you", 
wolves, lions, flying birds, crocodiles, monkeys, bears, dogs 
and cats.  The boys occasionally played at being a family of 
cats, with father cat, mother cat, and a crowd of "dear little 
kittens" -- even before Priscilla introduced the family play. 
The rug in the middle of the floor, or on the lawn, was often 
"a boat" on which we had our (real) lunch; once or 
twice it was "a magic-carpet".
   Always round about Christmas time, there would be 
frequent Santa Claus play, with the delivery of parcels and 
presents, etc.  Indians and Red Indians often appeared, 
sometimes queens, and "weddings" with flowers and gay 
costume, and "express wedding trains". 
   In the garden, besides all the play of engines and trains 
and collisions, there were road-menders, bridge-builders, 
giants and giant-killers (the laurel bushes were the bean- 
stalks) picnics and parties on the river in "canoes" and 
"punt-boats and "motor-boats"; many journeys in 
different sorts of vehicles; different houses in the hen-coops, 
summer-house, canoe-house, under the steps, and so on, with 
telephones from one to another.  Sometimes the play would 
be of the different families visiting each other; sometimes 
one would steal from the other.  Some of the children 
were fond of walking about as vendors, "coffee for sale", 
"honey for sale", (the coffee or honey would be a jar of 
sand), "rhubarb for sale" (real rhubarb), and so on. 
   Sometimes the children would pretend to be pulling the 
trees down with a rope round the trunk.  In the summer, 
when the sand-pit was filled with water for bathing, the 
children would "swim" and "dive", etc.  Some of them 
dug an "underground" in the sand. 
   Three or four of the boys occasionally pretended to be 
nursing babies, holding them in their arms, swaying about, 
and saying, "Baby, baby, baby".  This was before Priscilla 
arrived, and was quite spontaneous in the boys. 
   Unless prevented, the children were always ready to use 
the Montessori cylinders and blocks imaginatively, making 
them into trains, etc. 
 
SECOND YEAR.  There was more realistic detail in the make- 
believe trains, etc.  The "Carphilly Castle", and the 
"Flying Scotsman" were favourites.  Houses, boats, buses, 
ships, were often made; and thee were "racing cars" 
which had collisions and accidents and had to be rescued 
and mended.  We often had in the school "hotel waiters", 
"workmen with a lot to do", "carpenters come to mend 
your floor", "policemen controlling the traffic", "postmen 
delivering parcels", "dustmen", "stokers", "under- 
graduates" etc., and other personages.  There were elaborate 
invented "Army" plays, weddings, road repairs.  Many 
animals appeared dramatically -- pigs, horses, foxes, tigers, 
"The Tiger Queen", puppies and their masters; and many 
arrangements of chairs and tables "to keep the bears out". 
In the different forms of family play, long complicated 
journeys by sea and land were taken all over the world. 
There were many naughty children who did "all sorts of 
dreadful things", stern fathers and cherishing mothers, maids 
and cooks in the kitchen.  We had many hospitals and 
nursing-homes, with doctors and nurses and sick children 
with bandaged legs or newly-born babies.  We had lunch in 
"the cafe at the seaside", and the trestles of the long table 
were turned into horses or motor-bikes as the spirit moved. 
There was the play of the "poor lost child" -- who had "been 
invited by the taxi-men to go for a drive.  When they were 
a hundred miles from home, they asked her to pay her fare. 
She had no money, and they turned her out in the middle 
of the road.  She then wandered about until she was tired 
and lay down in the middle of the road and slept.  Her 
mother had to go and look for her all through Kensington 
Gardens.  The taxi-men sent her the wrong way when she 
asked where her little girl was; but in the end she found 
her".  This, like many other plays, was improvised co- 
operatively on the spot by several children, and played 
half-a-dozen times, with minor variations, with great 
abandon. 

THIRD YEAR.  The family play continued with many varia- 
tions, e.g., in the form of "Lady Beaufort, her 
chauffeur, and her little boy"; "the son of the Marquis"; 
with many journeys, visits, tea-parties, etc.  The most 
favoured form of make-believe among the younger group 
was however, making "ships" of one kind or another, 
e.g., the Leviathan, battleships, steamers.  These ships were 
always elaborately organised, with a captain and crew; and 
various pursuits were carried on during the voyage -- model- 
ling, sewing, singing, the making of paper-chains, and so on. 
Then there were shops, vehicles of all sorts, racing cars and 
collisions, fire-engines, hospitals, offices, the Zoo; scouts and 
scoutmasters, workmen, pirates, "broken-down" engines, 
"hunting for foxes", "puppies and their masters", 
telephones, wireless systems, "cosy places", and so on. 
 
                      5.  HANDWORK 

FIRST YEAR.  The most frequent form of handwork was 
modelling, chiefly with plasticine, but sometimes with glitter- 
wax.  The children began by making snakes and worms, 
sometimes several children joining to make a long snake. 
Then balls, circles, rectangles, polygons, were made at the 
suggestion of the grown-ups; and sometimes names and 
letters were made in plasticine.  Then as the children gained 
more ease in the material, they made freely every sort of 
object -- churches, colleges, houses (small ones in solid blocks 
or larger ones of all shapes and sizes, made of small plasticine 
bricks), with elaborate gardens round them, fences, garden 
seats, trees, birds on the trees, gardening implements and 
sheds, wheelbarrow, rabbit-houses and hen-coops, etc.  Some- 
times the children worked co-operatively to make a large and 
elaborate modelled scene, sometimes everything was individual. 
   Aeroplanes, engines, coal-tenders, trucks, whole trains; 
fire-engines, motor buses, different sorts of motor-cars, lorries, 
rowing boats, motor boats, steamers, canoes and sailing boats. 
Bridges, railway tracks with sleepers and tunnels, etc. 
   All sorts of domestic utensils were made for the family 
play -- cups and saucers, plates, dishes, cakes with candles, 
baskets of eggs and fruit different sorts of fruit and 
vegetables Animals of all kinds.  Elaborate "wireless" 
arrangements with head-phones and loud speakers were often 
made; gramophones and gramophone records (used afterwards 
in imaginative play); telephones and telephone wires 
and exchanges elaborate systems of water-pipes and gas-
pipes, factories and all sorts of factory machinery; the parts 
of motor-bikes and motor-cars, modelled on to a chair an 
ordinary real bicycle turned into a "motor-bike" by the 
addition of modelled parts.  Wrist-watches and clocks, tennis 
courts, the river with children bathing in a pool; children 
in bed with "mother saying good-night"; Santa Claus and 
his presents.  A large Christmas Tree with candles and gifts. 
   Plasticine was also used as an adhesive for making aero-
planes, etc., out of the ordinary building bricks or used in 
combination with small coloured sticks. 
   Many stories and nursery rhymes were illustrated in 
plasticine. 
   Many serious, discussions about details of parts of engines, 
motors, aeroplanes, machinery, etc., took place while the 
children were modelling.  They attempted to make these 
accurate. 
   Building with ordinary wooden bricks was very frequent --  
houses, bridges, the Cambridge Colleges, the Tower of 
London, tunnels, castles, and so on. 
   Threading beads of different sorts and sizes into bracelets, 
necklaces, head-dresses, etc., was a favourite occupation at 
some periods.  So was sewing -- with raffia on cardboard and 
canvas, with wool and coarse thread on canvas and muslin, 
making bags, dolls' dresses, real jumpers.  Some of the 
children sewed pictures, e.g., of houses, in wool on the bags 
they had made. 
   All sorts of paper-work went on; cutting out pictures from 
catalogues, and pasting in books also made by the children 
cutting out paper dolls and clothes for them paper caps 
and hats -- "Kings' hats", "maids' caps", Red Indians' 
head-dresses and cloaks; making paper windmills fixed on 
sticks; "balloons" cut out in the flat; fans; engines and 
steamers drawn and cut out; paper and canvas wings for 
fairies; large books for drawing in; "crackers" with 
modelled gifts inside; paper masks; kites; "butterflies"; boats, 
and battleships, with funnels and masts of sticks large sailing- 
ships with sails, and "sailor-men" cut out in the flat; coloured 
paper decorations for the rooms and Christmas Tree, etc. 
   A good deal of miscellaneous invention and construction 
was involved in the make-believe play -- the making of tents 
with curtains and poles, the mending of an old hammock, 
and fastening it up with hooks and string; the making of 
flags with sticks; the construction of a Christmas Tree in a 
large pot with sand, and many sorts of gifts and decorations. 
   The use of hammer and nails, saw and pincers -- some of 
it mere practice in knocking nails into pieces of wood, but 
also the definite repair of wheel-barrows, tables, boxes, etc. 
   Modelling in the sand-pit -- the "Cambridge river", the 
bridges, lock-gates, etc. 
   Building with real bricks and cement in the garden -- houses, 
walls, a "watermill", an oven for burning the hay in, etc. 
 
SECOND YEAR.  Bead threading was still a generally favoured 
occupation, and beads were sewn in decorative designs on 
the various bags and dresses that were made.  A great deal 
of effective sewing was done, with canvas and coloured muslin, 
All the older children, and some of the younger made several 
dresses and jumpers for themselves, with collars and pockets 
and belts, which they wore on different occasions.  Some of 
them were excellently done and charmingly stitched.  Bags, 
handkerchief cases, needle-cases, overalls, aprons, curtains, 
dolls' hats, raffia or wool hats for themselves, egg covers, 
cushion covers, tablecloths, were made in profusion.  Some 
of the bags had houses or animals outlined in stitches on the 
side -- or the names of the people they were given to.  Handles 
of raffia or coarse thread were plaited for the bags.  Many 
bags were woven on cardboard looms, and some knitting was 
attempted.  Golliwogs and dolls were made of wool. 
   Modelling with plasticine was often enjoyed, elaborate 
"wireless" arrangements with had-phones and loud- 
speakers, telephone systems, a sewing machine, "works" 
and "machinery",  "gas-pipes",  being frequently pro 
duced, as well as "witches' houses", animals, people, and 
ordinary objects for use in imaginative play.  The garden 
was modeled "as the man in the aeroplane sees it", and 
the streets and colleges of Cambridge. 
   Clay was also used this year, and the children made bowls 
and jars, painting them in designs when dry.  Wooden egg- 
cups and bowls, and parchment plates, were also decorated 
in colours, 
   Chains of coloured paper were made, and paper dolls were 
dressed in paper garments -- sometimes having real hair from 
the children's own heads gummed on!  Paper windmills and 
jointed paper men were made.  Large brown paper books 
were made for pasting in coloured pictures cut out from 
catalogues, or from their own drawing. 
   The large trestle table was painted operatively by all 
the children with "real" paint, the children choosing the 
colours and making their own designs. 
   The carpenters' tools were added to, and the children helped 
to make minor repairs of boxes, wheelbarrow, summer-house 
floor, sheds and hutches, etc., and helped to fix up the pulleys 
in schoolroom and garden; and to saw logs for the fire. 
   The fruit from the garden was gathered and cooked by 
the children, and toast and cakes often made. 
   Building in bricks and modelling in the sand-pit became 
more elaborate and effective. 
 
THIRD YEAR.  The modelling in plasticine was very free and 
bold this year.  Besides the usual objects -- nests with eggs, 
trees, sheep in a pen, toys for a toy shop, men playing 
cricket, little men to weigh on the balance, boats, engines, 
motor-cars and lorries, etc., the children made a system of gas 
and water-pipes all round one of the smaller rooms, and many 
elaborate pieces of machinery, a biscuit factory, etc., etc. 
   In clay, they made many pots and jars, and modelled a 
garden, painting all the trees and flowers, etc., when the clay 
had hardened.  Wooden bowls, egg-cups, etc., were painted; 
and each child painted his own small table in new colours and 
designs, and a garden chair for himself, with "real" oil-paint. 
   The ladders, too, were made gay with painted designs. 
   Great use was made of the carpenter's bench and additional 
tools.  Pen-trays, boxes, swords and daggers were made with 
plasterer's laths; large and small aeroplanes, motor-cars, 
carts, ladders, boats, signals, etc., were made with larger 
timber.  Each child helped to saw off the legs of a garden 
chair down to the right height for himself, and to saw logs 
for the bonfire with a double-handled saw.  They drilled holes 
in planks to make toboggans, helped to reseat a chair with 
plaited straw, to repair the handle of a toy cart, and the 
various hutches and sheds for the animals; to lengthen the 
webbing on a tall trestle table; and to put up new labels 
of wood in the toy-shed. 
   With paper of different sorts, they made large and small 
books for writing in or pasting pictures -- either wiring the 
pages together, or punching holes and affixing eyelets for a 
cord.  They made cardboard steering-wheels for their make 
believe cars and boats, fancy dresses of coloured paper, and 
coloured paper chains to hang up.  The older children followed 
Jane in making many families of flat, cut-out paper dolls, 
and costumes which fitted on, of different historical periods
(accurately copied from a book of costumes), or of different 
countries and climates.  In sewing, many mats and curtains 
were made for shelves and windows; cushion covers, bags, 
purses, cases of all sorts, coloured handkerchiefs, dolls' 
clothes, scarves, raffia whips, baskets, rings and mats, plaited 
handles in silk or raffia, etc., etc.  All the older children 
made special coloured suits for themselves for wearing in 
the eurhythmics class, as well as jumpers and overalls for 
ordinary wear.  The two elder girls both made excellent 
jumper suits of Viyella, with knickers to match, which they 
were able to wear for a year or two afterwards on any 
occasion.  They were decorated with flat wooden buttons.  
   Besides using the cardboard looms for weaving bags, etc., 
the older children made narrow belts and ribbons on small 
wooden looms, after setting the looms up themselves from 
diagrams.  Some of them learnt to knit, and even the younger 
ones helped to wind skeins of wool.  
   The older group learnt to use a sewing machine, either for 
garments and dolls' clothes, or for perforating paper without 
thread to make into "cheque-books" and "books of tickets" 
in their "office" play.  
   All the children did a good deal of cooking -- making cakes 
and toffee and toast, cocoa and tea; stewing pears and apples 
from the garden; and occasionally cooking a whole dinner 
of stewed meat and vegetables.  
   In the sand-pit, there were elaborate models of rivers, water 
falls, canals, the Zuyder Zee, farms and moats, etc.  And 
building with real bricks of walls, forts, etc.  
   The wooden bricks were used by all, and the Asen per- 
forated blocks, with wooden or steel rods, by the younger 
group.  The elder children used a set of Meccano a good deal.  
And several of them washed their own skirts or jumpers or 
knickers, and ironed them with an electric iron.  They learnt 
to use a spanner to turn on the water-tap over the sand-pit,  
when the removable handle had been lost. 
 
                   6.  DRAWING AND PAINTING 
 
FIRST YEAR.  The children gave more time to drawing and 
painting in different forms, than to any other single occupa- 
tion except modelling.  They were always ready to enjoy it 
with great zest and freedom of expression.  
   They drew with chalks, on the blackboards, all over the
wooden floor, on large sheets of brown paper, and on the 
white wall of the summer-house.  They painted freely and 
drew with charcoal on large sheets of kitchen paper, and with 
thick carpenter's pencils and crayons on ordinary white paper.  
   Sometimes they would use the Montessori insets for tracing 
and filling in, and make geometrical designs based on these.  
But for the most part their drawings were free and bold 
expressions of phantasy or of actual experiences.  Steamers 
"with a sailor-man looking out of the port-hole", "an 
earthquake with the fire coming out", "the sea, and the legs 
of a boy who has fallen in", "people letting off fireworks", 
trees and landscapes; animals of many sorts -- a favourite 
occupation at one time was to draw immense "crocodiles" 
on the floor, with the mouth wide open showing the teeth 
ready to snap "at the boys' legs" as they walked over the 
floor.  Whole trains, with railway tracks, turn-tables, and so 
on, were drawn on the floor, sometimes co-operatively, some- 
times individually.  The trains would have "powerful lights" 
on, and so on.  Then there were endless drawings and 
paintings of engines, trains, goods trains, aeroplanes, motor- 
cars, motor vans and lorries, ships, battleships, gunboats, 
lifeboats, submarines, trains going over bridges, collisions, 
rescues, and so on.  
   The younger children did a good deal of mere aimless 
scribbling, of course, labelling the results according to the 
fancy of the moment; but the five-year olds produced 
some very attractive bold pictures, of which I have kept a 
large collection.  Some of these were very full of movement 
and quite delightful compositions; others were meant to be 
accurate representations of particular engines (the Rocket, 
e.g.), or of particular makes of cars and steamships, etc.  
   People and their actions were drawn too, but much less 
often than vehicles.  Systems of roads and paths were often 
drawn in a primitive attempt at map-making; and hills and 
valleys, the sun, moon and stars.  
   Drawing and painting were much used in connection with 
make-believe play -- e.g., wrist-watches drawn and cut out 
and fastened on the wrist; clocks to put in houses, etc.  
   Sometimes the children fastened series of drawings together 
into a book, e.g., "a puffer book". 

SECOND YEAR.  As much time was spent on different forms of 
drawing and painting as before, with a great development in 
skill and freedom of expression.  
   Perhaps more time was given to geometrical designs for 
decorative purposes and rather less to the making of pictures, 
than in the first year.  
   The elder children made monthly calendars and decorated 
them.  

THIRD YEAR.  Much time was spent on geometrical designs,
for decoration of wall, of backs of books, wooden bowls, 
boxes and trays, canvas bags, Christmas cards, etc.  Many 
pictures Mere drawn and painted in the books made by the 
children -- e.g., of the fair, of picnics on the river; and the 
stories they dictated to make "reading books" were illustrated 
with pencil or brush.  The older children did large pictures 
for the schoolroom wall -- Clifton Suspension Bridge, sketch 
map of the Fens, etc.  
   The paper dolls and their costumes had to be drawn and 
painted before cutting out, and there was much patient work 
on this.  
   The younger ones drew engines and trains, motor-cars, 
people, the sun and stars, flowers of different sorts, birds, 
etc., as before.  
   We had the floor of the schoolroom covered with a black 
and white linoleum this year, which was warmer to the feet 
than the old wooden floor, but no good for drawing on, so 
there were none of the bold floor drawings of the first two 
years.  

                   7.  READING AND WRITING 

FIRST YEAR.  There was not a great deal of active interest 
in reading and writing during the first year.  These children 
showed little response to the sandpaper letters.  They pre- 
ferred to rely directly upon vision, and did not seem to feel 
the need for learning by touch.  Dr.  White's large cut-out 
cardboard letters were always available, and were sometimes 
used by particular children, but others took no interest in 
them.  But they were all interested in their own names, and 
in using these either to label their various possessions, or in 
imaginative games.  They often asked to be shown how to 
write their names, and copied them out for particular pur- 
poses.  Several of the children learnt to recognise nearly all 
the names of the others, and from this developed an interest 
in the letters and sounds.  Some of them always insisted on 
having names written in capitals, and never wanted to have 
small letters used.  
   The children wrote "letters" to each other when playing 
"postmen" or the family game.  Sometimes these letters 
would contain words they knew how to spell, or that they 
asked the grown-ups to spell for them; sometimes they 
would be a jumble of meaningless letters, and sometimes mere 
scribble.  When the grown-ups were invited to join in this 
play, they of course wrote real messages, which the children 
read, with such help as they needed.  Letters of invitation 
to parties were written by the children with help in the spelling.  
And many "notices" for their games were printed by them, 
with help -- "road up", "no road", "this way", "shed 
for repairs", "you must not come past here", and so on.  
In the same way, the children's own drawings were often
labelled, and the engines, vans, etc., drawn often had names 
of places or firms printed on them.  And many of the ordinary 
objects in the room were labelled, from time to time, some- 
times by the grown-ups, sometimes by the children themselves, 
with help in spelling.  They also wrote down (spontaneously) 
the names of songs they specially liked, In general, it could 
be said that in this year the children showed a lively sense of 
the uses of reading and writing, but not yet any direct interest 
in technique, nor much patience in the learning.  
   There were a number of books on the shelves which were 
very often "read" by the children -- i.e., the pictures were 
looked at, many questions were asked about them and the 
facts discussed, and names and words of particular interest 
picked out.  Several of these books were "engine books", 
describing different types of railroads and engines in different 
countries and of different periods; and others described motor 
transport, aeroplanes, ships and steamers.  Others were stories 
and descriptions of animals; books of verse, from which we 
read to the children occasionally; nursery rhymes; and 
traditional fairy tales.  We did not at this stage have any 
reading primers.  

SECOND YEAR.  The coloured letters were often used for word- 
making in the early part of the year by all the children, 
but later on, chiefly by the younger ones.  The older group 
became interested in word-building and the analysis of words 
into letters.  
   Names continued to be of great interest, and many games 
bringing in the writing of lists of names on the blackboard 
were played.  The children often copied these out in their 
own books.  Labels were again pinned on to all the various 
things in the schoolroom, and on the different drawers and 
cupboards, showing their contents.  Names of the months 
and days were often written on the board, on demand, and 
copied out.  
   Postmen games were played in which the children "wrote" 
letters to each other, the older ones writing real messages, 
with help in the spelling.  
   We had boxes of pictures of fruits, vegetables, and other 
common objects, or of tradesmen, workmen, etc., with loose 
labels for the children to arrange with the pictures.  
   Games with different commands were played by the older 
group -- "shut the door", "run fast", and so on.  The 
children invented some of these and copied them out.  
   A great many letters were written by the elder children and 
posted to their own and each others' parents.  The children 
would tell the grown-ups what they wanted to say, and have 
the words which they could not spell written on the board 
to copy.  "Dear Mr. X. I love you.  I can come to tea 
on Saturday."  One boy wrote to his mother just before 
Christmas, "Dear Mummy, I have had a happy Christmas".
"Dear Daddy, I love you up to 1621."  "Dear Daddy, 
the mouse is killed by Robert (the cat).  He got behind 
it on Mrs. I.'s shelf."  The children addressed their own 
envelopes, learning the use of "Local" and "c/o". 
   Sometimes we played a game of questions and answers, 
Mrs. I. writing the questions on the board, and the children 
the answers in their books, "Can you jump?  Can you 
run?"  "Yes, I can run ever so fast", and so on.  And 
some simple poems were written out for reading -- "I met 
a man", for example.  
   Brief accounts of things happening were written on the 
board for the children to read and copy -- "Priscilla has a 
baby doll.  It cries.  It shuts its eyes", and so on.  Later 
on, the children dictated longer narratives, and copied them 
into their own books.  Many of the events in the school were 
recorded in their letters, or in "story-books" which the 
children then kept for reading from.  "I got some paint, 
at the shop to-day.  The man will send it." 
   The children again wrote "notices" for use in their play.  
and some of them needed no help in this now.  Lists of 
who did whose washing up on the different days of the week 
(voluntary exchanges) were written down and pinned up in 
the cloakroom.  
   Pictures in the newspapers of events interesting to the 
children were shown to them, and were much discussed, e.g., 
of a large fire in a village Mrs. I. was going to for the holiday.  
The "engine" books and story books were added to; but 
the only books the children had for their own reading were 
those they made themselves in the ways described.  
 
THIRD YEAR.  The younger children used the letters, labels, 
etc., much as before.  The older group used more advanced 
boxes of pictures with loose names, stories with pictures, 
commands and questions and answers, and the New Beacon 
readers.  They dictated longer stories or accounts of real 
events, which were written or typed by the grown-ups, and 
used as reading books later.  They wrote notices about the 
sweet-shop and other school events, lists of the dinners chosen 
to hand to the cook, labels on their own cupboards and 
belongings; and many letters to their parents and friends, 
to the Zoo, the ladder-maker, etc.  They kept notebooks in 
which they put down such things as "I owe Mrs. I. 1/-", 
if they had borrowed pocket-money in advance for a visit 
to a toy-shop or a bus ride.  They made lists of the twenty- 
five to thirty books in the school library, and often read
descriptive motor catalogues.  
 
            8.  NUMBER, AND GEOMETRICAL AND OTHER 
                      FORMAL MATERIAL 
 
FIRST YEAR.  Most of the children spent on the average about
an hour and a half to two hours in the week on the use of 
the various forms of number apparatus and formal material; 
some of course less, some rather more.  They were all actively 
interested in number as it entered into practical activities --  
e.g., when "taking turns" at swinging and counting the 
number of swings each child had, the number of plates.  cups.  
spoons, etc., when laying the meal-table, and so on.  In the 
shopping game, the number of things bought and sold had 
to be counted, and the shells and counters used as money.  
Sometimes they made a game of counting all the eyes, noses, 
legs, toes and fingers, etc., of the children sitting in a row 
on the floor -- some of the children then getting up and running 
away, and saying, "Now, there aren't" (so many).  And the 
engines, coaches, etc., often had to be counted in their games.  
   Apart from this practical counting, the two first ways in 
which we stimulated the younger children's interest were the 
"long stair" and the shells or counters arranged in serial 
patterns beside the printed figures.  
   The Montessori number material was freely used, but we 
found that White's number rods more readily called out a 
direct intellectual interest in the relation of length than the 
Montessori "long stair"; apparently because with the 
smaller set, the whole thing is more directly under the eye 
and can be comprehended in a single act of attention; 
whereas the larger Montessori rods seemed to stimulate much 
more easily the desire for their active use as walking-sticks 
or "guns", and far l readily their "proper" value.  The 
children needed much more stimulus from us to perceive their 
formal relations; but they were sometimes used for this.  
   The partitioned boxes were often used with sticks or shells.  
White's number rods and her addition boards were used by 
the older children for addition, the children at first showing 
the result by placing the printed number cards, but later on 
preferring to write the sum in their books.  Towards the end 
of the year, some of them sometimes set "sums" for them- 
selves or for each other.  Sometimes they would sort out the 
number cards co-operatively, if they had got mixed up.  The 
sandpaper figures did not draw much interest -- one child sug- 
gested striking matches on them; but the children often 
modelled figures in plasticine, as well as writing them for 
their games.  
   Once or twice the children invented number games in the 
garden -- the seats, e.g., would be "the ten seat", "the five 
seat" and so on; and when running round, the children 
and grown-ups would be supposed to rest on each of these 
as long as it took to count the number allotted to the seat. 
   The "pink tower" and "broad stair" and the cylinders 
were often used, particularly by the younger children.  The 
younger ones were genuinely interested in the formal relations 
of the cylinders, but such intelligent children very quickly 
appreciated the formal value and left it behind.  The older 
ones were only interested in them as building material to 
use in imaginative games.  A good deal of pressure was 
needed to prevent the cylinders being made into "trains", 
by, for example, fastening one set to another with raffia, or 
hooking them together with scissor handles! 
   The colour tablets were often enjoyed in pairing and 
grading and sorting; and for experimenting with different 
colour assortments.  But here, too, there was a strong sense 
with some children of their handiness as building material! 
   The sound boxes were experimentally broken open by the 
more intelligent children, to find out "what's inside" and 
"what makes that noise".  The fabrics for touch were hardly 
appreciated for this purpose at all, but their possibilities as 
material for making into bags and dolls' frocks was quickly 
realised.  In the second year of the school, the children were 
allowed to use them in this way.  
   The geometrical insets were of great interest and value, and 
were very often used in the "correct" way, although here 
again, these intelligent children did not seem to need any 
special attention to touch, but quickly learnt to sort and name 
the different forms by sight.  Their "blindfold" use was an 
occasional amusing game to them rather than a real aid in 
learning the shapes.  
   But the geometrical insets were used in one way or another 
far more freely than any other part of the formal material.  
The children often drew different geometrical shapes, either 
freehand, or by tracing insets; and they looked out for 
them in everyday objects -- e.g., all the rectangles in the 
schoolroom, doors, windows, shelves, blackboards, etc.  When 
they modelled cakes, they often made "polygon cakes" or 
"round cakes" and so on.  They sometimes drew circles of 
different sizes, and then called them gramophone records 
In their shopping game, we often bought and sold triangles, 
hexagons, etc., by name.  Towards the end of the year, when 
the children became interested in measuring (first of all, with 
pieces of string), they measured the tops of the tables, and 
said "this side is the same length as that", and so on, "in 
a rectangle". 
   We also showed them how to trace out an ellipse with a 
piece of string fastened between two pegs.  They did this 
with chalk on the schoolroom floor, and in sand in the garden.  
   In their imaginative games, the children often showed an 
interest in lengths of time interval, in the real clock, and in 
writing down different hours for visits, etc.  Most of them 
learnt to tell the time mainly in this way, without any formal 
lessons -- just an explanation here and there, as these occasions
arose.  

SECOND YEAR.  In this year, a good deal more time was given 
to number and other formal apparatus.  The older children 
now had the use of a "quiet room" to themselves for these 
purposes.  But even some of the new and younger children 
gave a lot of time to these interests, in the general room.  
The nature of the activities was very much as already 
described, the Montessori and White's material, both number 
and geometrical, being used very freely, and all the children 
making great progress in understanding quantity and form, 
colour grading, etc.  
   New forms of activity were added, too, and some of the 
previous ones developed more fully.  
   Some of the older children did a good deal of "making 
tens", etc., and addition in series, 2's, 3's, 4's, etc.  They 
wrote these sums down, using at first the plus sign and this 
led on in the third term to multiplication -- three times, five 
times, and so on.  
   There was frequent measuring of ordinary things with a 
tape measure, this having been started by the measuring of 
windows for the amount of stuff needed for some curtains, 
and measuring for aprons; they measured the sizes of tables, 
doors, walls, blackboards, etc., the height the pulleys were 
fixed, and their own heights marked off against the wall.  
They measured each others' heads for modelling "head- 
phones" and making bead head-dresses, etc.  
   Graded wooden measures (corn chandler's) were much used 
with dried peas and beans, some of the older children working 
out their relations accurately.  Graded glass vessels were used 
with water.  
   Number games were played at times with the whole group --  
one child writing a number on the board, and the others 
clapping or running round the room so many times.  And 
"Three Men Went to Mow" was carried on to large 
numbers.  
   They played dominoes in the third term.  The see-saw with 
attachable weights was provided this year, and the children 
learnt to weigh each other on it.  They also had a pair of 
household scales for their shopping games.  
   The older children had the advanced Montessori insets, and 
were greatly interested.  They used them a good deal for 
working out equal areas and for simple fractions.  (No writing 
down of fractions was attempted yet.) 
   They became very interested in weeks, months and years.  
and constructed monthly calendars, with many talks about 
birthdays, etc.  In the second term they had the Linay 
number apparatus, but only used it occasionally.  
   Stamps for the many letters they wrote (some abroad) were 
bought and sold in school, as well as in the post office.  The 
children bought and paid for, in the real shops, various
materials for use in school (sewing and cooking, etc.), and 
paid for the repair of tricycles, etc. at the repair shop.  In 
the third term, they asked the grown-ups to buy (really) the 
bags, mats, etc. that they wove and made themselves, and 
bargained amusingly about the prices.  We tried to keep the 
price as near real shop prices as possible.  They charged an 
extra penny when a bag had "a small pocket inside", and 
so on.  After some weeks, we refused to buy any more bags.  
as we had as many as we could find a use for.  The children 
were then obliged to find other things to make that we would 
agree to buy -- nightdress cases, aprons, etc.  

THIRD YEAR.  The Asen number material1 from Geneva was 
added this year, and much used and enjoyed by the younger 
children (particularly the balls threaded on wires from 1-10, 
and the blocks for making tens).  The younger ones also did 
a good deal of rhythmic counting, and of the writing of 
numbers; and made "sums" for themselves with small 
sticks.  They sometimes tried to weigh on the see-saw the 
large wooden buses and motor-cars that were used in the 
garden -- calling the operation "craning".  The older group 

   1 See note on p. 16.

did accurate weighing of each other on the see-saw, and tried 
out the differences in apparent weight as the children or the 
weights shifted nearer to the middle, or further from it.  
   There was much measuring -- of the size of the door-step 
for a new mat to be ordered, of the heights they wished to 
have the new ladders, of the length of elastic for the waist 
of knickers, of the sizes of the different rooms, tables, shelves, 
windows, etc.  In measuring the size of the schoolroom in 
order to compare it with the size of the Leviathan, the older 
children found that the black and white squares on the 
linoleum were just six inches square, and used these as their 
unit of measurement.  When the R 33 airship passed over, 
the children had suggested it was a hundred inches high, but 
(on Mrs. I.'s suggestion) stood the plank of the see-saw on 
end to see whether the airship was higher than that, and 
measured its length.  (12 ft.) 
   They again sold bags and other things they had made, 
either to each other or to the grown-ups.  A sweet shop was 
arranged within the school this year (primarily for health 
reasons, so that we could make sure of the quality of any 
sweets the children had).  The stock of chocolate and boiled 
sweets was kept in a locked cupboard and opened on one 
or two days in the week.  The children helped to work out 
required change, and the retail prices; and to keep the 
general account.  They did a good deal of shopping in the 
town -- Christmas presents, elastic and sewing materials, cook- 
ing materials, nails, screws, oil, paint, etc.  In choosing the 
daily menu from the list of dishes supplied to them, they
were asked to keep the total cost of the meal down to is.  
per head, being given the individual cost of each kind of dish.  
The older group again made much use of the Montessori 
advanced insets, and worked out more difficult fractions.  
They worked out several of the multiplication tables, starting 
from addition in series -- and were much amused (for some 
unknown reason) to find that ten 100's made 1,000.  In 
the third term, Dan spontaneously worked out the "twelve 
times" table in his head one morning, whilst lying in bed, 
doing it by "ten times" and "two times" (a spon- 
taneous solution of the problem), and getting it practically 
correct.  It was very probably the free use of the advanced 
insets which made this possible.  Jane calculated the squares 
of several numbers, using the Linay apparatus, and became 
interested in the measurements of angles.  She was fond 
of being asked to write down very large numbers, e.g., 
33,694,871, etc.  The others were also very interested in the 
writing of numbers over 100.  Some of the Blackie arithmetic 
cards were used for problems.  And all the children helped 
in dividing up equally among the group a bundle of plasterer's 
laths (310 among ten children).  They sat in a circle whilst 
Mrs. I. handed the laths out, three at a time, and one each 
in the last round.  Jane worked the sum out in her head 
beforehand, and the others expressed the results in words.  
 
            9.  PRACTICAL RESPONSIBILITIES 

FIRST YEAR.  As far as we possibly could, and as early as 
we could, we made the children responsible for taking off 
and putting on their outdoor garments, and hanging them up 
on their own hooks; for dressing and undressing when they 
bathed in the summer, and for changing their own shoes and 
socks when they arrived, or if they had got damp feet in the 
garden.  
   The children also learnt to wash their own hands, empty 
the water away, and hang up the towels; and they washed 
their own feet and legs after being in the sand-pit.  
During this year, the water for their play in the sand-pit 
had to be carried out to the garden from the cloakroom, and 
the children always did this themselves; they were allowed 
to have the water only on condition that they wiped up any 
that was spilt in the carrying out.  They were always expected 
to put away any material that they had been using, before 
taking any more; and to pick up anything (beads or chalk, 
etc.) that got dropped.  
   They were asked to hang up their gardening and digging 
tools under their own names in the tool-shed; and if they 
wanted to have a bonfire, to help gather the sticks and 
rubbish to keep it going.  
   They took turns each day at helping to lay the meal-table, 
and at serving out the dinner at the table.  Afterwards, each
brushed up any crumbs he had spilled, and took turns at 
washing up the crockery.  Often this was done in the garden, 
and things had to be carried out there and brought back 
afterwards.  Very often they wanted to have the meal, or to 
do their modelling, etc., on the small tables from the school- 
room, in the garden.  They were expected to carry chairs 
and tables out themselves, and bring them in again.  Some- 
times on a sunny day, they liked to have their afternoon rests 
out-of-doors, and for this, they carried out their own wooden 
cots and mattresses and rugs, and brought them in again.  
   They often helped to gather flowers for the schoolroom, 
and put fresh water.  They quite often scrubbed their own 
tables after modelling, and in their enthusiasm went on to 
clean the windows and wash the hot-water pipes.  
   Sometimes they washed and hung up to dry their dolls' 
clothes, or the mats off their own shelves.  And they helped 
to pin up on the walls the pictures they painted.  In general, 
anything that the children could do for themselves, they were 
asked to do; and a good deal of time went in these personal 
and social responsibilities.  

SECOND YEAR.  In addition to the above, the children now 
took turns at making their own cocoa in the middle of the 
morning -- or squeezing their own orange juice into a cup; 
and making toast for dinner if they wanted it.  
   Each child was responsible for washing his own dinner 
crockery, etc., and they made elaborate exchanges among 
themselves, "You wash mine today and I'll do yours 
to-morrow".  
   They voluntarily suggested covering over the shelves for 
the holiday, and helped to do this.  

THIRD YEAR.  The responsibilities already described were 
kept up as a matter of course.  In taking turns to choose the 
menu for the mid-day meal, the children were asked to keep 
the total cost down to 1s. per head.  The menus for the week 
had to be written or typed out and given to the cook in 
advance.  If the children wanted to have toast with the meal, 
they were expected to make it themselves.  Several of them 
washed and ironed their own jumpers, skirts or knickers, 
when they had got soiled in play or gardening.  
  
            10.  GARDENING AND CARE OF ANIMALS.  
 
   As these activities are quoted so fully in Chapter Six, it is 
not necessary to do more than mention them here.  A large 
share of time every day was spent in the work of the garden 
and the tending of the animals.  
   The first year we had a dog and two cats, a tortoise, gold- 
fish, a wormery, a rabbit and a hen and chickens.  
   The second year, silkworms, a fresh-water aquarium, and 
several rabbits, several families of mice, as well as the animals 
already mentioned.  
   The third year, guinea pigs, tadpoles, a grass snake, a 
salamander and a lizard were added as well.  
 
            11.  INTEREST IN EVERYDAY FACTS (OTHER 
                    THAN PLANTS AND ANIMALS), AND 
                       SCIENTIFIC EXPERIMENT.  
 
FIRST YEAR.  The children showed an active and more or 
less sustained interest in the following, as occasions arose: 
   The water-supply in the wash basin and lavatory -- where 
the pipes came from and went to; the construction of the 
taps (washer, etc.) and the cistern; the hot-water pipes, and 
the bubbling of the safety over-flow from the hot-water cistern; 
the outside drains and the course of the pipes from the 
kitchen sink to the drains; the main tap to the water-supply 
in the garden, and the way it controlled the other taps; the 
squirting of the water when the tap was blocked by a stone.  
   The electric lights and wires and switches; an electric bell- 
push the course of the telephone wires, and the mechanism 
of the telephone.  
   Soap, soap lather, soap bubbles, with bubble pipe -- the 
shapes of the bubbles, and their refraction of light.  
   The mechanism of the piano -- the relation between the keys 
and the hammers, the action of the pedals, the way the 
cover fitted on.  
   The mechanism of the skylight window (seen both from the 
inside and the outside); and its opening and shutting by a 
long rope.  
   The padlock on the swing gates at the back of the platform 
in the schoolroom, and the working of the key.  
   An oilcan; a garden syringe; a bicycle pump.  
   Aeroplanes circling overhead, the propeller, petrol tank 
and engine, the way they worked; whether or not the pilot 
could see and hear the children.  
   The melting of wax on the hot-water pipes, and the attempt 
to melt other things in the same way -- plasticine, chalk, 
wooden bricks, paper, scissors, etc.; the bag of different 
substances in the garden bonfire -- wood, cotton, sand, tin, 
dry and green garden rubbish, putting the fire out by water 
and by sand; warming water for washing in buckets on the 
bonfire; the discovery that the charred sticks from the fire 
could be used for drawing with; many discussions of steam 
and smoke in the fire and in engines; traction engines that 
occasionally passed and could be seen by standing on the 
garden wall.  
   Reflections in minor.  
   Apparent bending of a stick in water; experiments to find 
out which things would float and which not -- paper flat or 
crumpled, wooden things, metal things, boats, engines, 
pennies, sticks, scissors, etc.  
   Hail and ice and snow in the garden in winter; the melting 
of ice in jars on the hot-water pipes; a lump of ice in the 
hot weather -- its transparency, its refraction of light, its rapid 
melting, etc.  
   The chicken's drinking fountain, the way it was made; 
and the way the air bubbled up through the water and the 
water slowly trickled down when it was set upright.  
   A man repairing the telegraph wires on a telegraph pole 
just outside the garden; the carpenter repairing the sheds 
and trellis work in the garden.  
   The use of disinfectant.  
 
SECOND YEAR.  The cooking of toast, cocoa, fruit, vegetables.  
   The boiling of water -- the small bubbles of air and larger 
bubbles of steam; the rate of burning of different substances, 
such as wool and cotton, held in the Bunsen flame; dissolving 
of sugar in warm water.  
   The rate of melting of snow and ice under different con- 
ditions, and the amount of water produced; the making of 
ice, and the fact that a small quantity of shallow water froze 
more quickly than a larger amount; snow and frost and 
frozen soil; frozen pipes, "the gas not working' because of 
frost; the "unfreezing" of the cistern and the lavatory pipes.  
   The bubbling and hissing of the overflow from the hot- 
water pipes; the construction and mending of water-taps, 
and the course of the main pipe.  
   Steam v. smoke from the bonfire; the smouldering of wet 
leaves; the amount of soot in the smoke from the bonfire 
and in that from a burning candle; the deposit of soot on 
a plate as "a burnt plate", and the washing off of the soot 
to see that the plate was not burnt.  
   The laying-on of the gas for the cooker and the Bunsen; 
the construction and use of the gas-cooker, and of the Bunsen; 
the control of the air supply in the latter, and the difference 
between the different parts of the flame.  
   The melting and fusing of glass; the movements of mercury 
in a thermometer in hot and cold water; the behaviour of 
mercury (from a broken thermometer).  
   The behaviour of water poured into a glass U tube; the 
use of funnels and filters; the levels of settling of different 
ingredients in the soil in a jar of water; the clearing out of 
the gutters under the eaves, and damp walls due to blocked 
gutters.  
   The use of a hose-pipe, the moving of the see-saw by the 
force of the stream of water from the hose, and washing out 
a hole in the gravel path with the stream of water.  
   Soap bubbles; many weather observations.  
   A pocket compass; the movement of the shadow on a 
sundial disc, and the points of the compass.  
   Balancing on sliding boards, "We dropped down without 
pushing ourselves down". 
   The parts and construction of the wireless; the action of 
cranes; the china weights on the pulleys of the electric 
lights; the use of pulleys for hauling up pails, etc.  
   The warmth of electric bulbs when the light was on; the 
bursting of blown-up paper bags, and the attempt to make 
some for the purpose.  
   The hardening of clay as it dries.  
   The carpenter's tools when making new shelves -- plane, 
spoke-shave, spirit level, etc.; the use of hand lenses and 
how "this look bigger". 
   The construction and use of the gramophone; "where is 
the man singing?" 
   "How is stuff made?" and weaving; "how is it made 
in factories?" and how special patterns of stuff could be 
made.  
   The position of the cellar under the schoolroom or summer- 
house.  
   Aeroplanes spinning and manoeuvring; aerial photographs; 
maps and map-making; the reading of map symbols; whether 
one can "go all the way to China by boat"; the sizes of 
steamers and rivers; volcanoes (one of the children had 
heard of these at home).  
   The refraction and reflection of a fish in the water of a 
round vessel.  
   The swinging of a brick on the end of a cord, and then of 
a lead bob, noticing that it swings faster when the cord is 
shorter.  
   The expansion of a metal ball with heat, in the ball and 
ring apparatus (arising from their interest in the gap left 
between the rails on the railway line); the movement of 
the pointer at the end of a metal bar when heated.  
   The use of turpentine and petrol for cleaning oil-paint off 
hands, etc.  
   The gardener's scythe for cutting long grass, and the hone 
for sharpening.  
 
THIRD YEAR.  Most of the children were interested on one 
occasion or another in the following: 
   The use and construction of the Bunsen burner; the 
blocking of the pipe and its cleaning; the control of the 
air supply, and different sorts of flame.  
   The use of matches, and why wet matches won't burn; the 
burning of raffia, plasticine, string and rubber tubing.  
   The construction and lighting of the gas-cooker, and the 
way one burner would ignite from another; the bubbling of 
gas through water, and its ignition on the surface of the 
water; the back-firing of the burners on the gas-cookers;
the relation of the different control taps of the gas supply; the 
construction of an old gas-fire.  
   Tracing the hot-water pipes to the boiler of the furnace; 
the hissing noise when a hot rod was put into water; the 
steam from the spout of a kettle, and its heat at different 
distances from the kettle; the boiling of water, and dissolving 
of sugar and soda crystals; the smouldering of wet stuff on 
the bonfire.  
   Soap lather and bubbles; disinfectant and its diffusion in 
water; the making of starch paste.  
   The rain from a gutter; the dripping of water through 
small holes in the barrow; and the way the holes got stopped 
up with sand the fanwise squirting of water when a trowel 
was held close to the tap in the sand-pit; the channels the 
water made in sand and soil; the pouring of water into the 
holes of an old tree, and watching it run out mixed with 
decayed pith.  
   Blowing through rubber tubing and feeling the air at the 
other end; blowing through tubing into water and noticing 
the bubbles.  
   Watching the snake-like movements of thin rubber tubing 
fixed on to the tap in the sand-pit, when the water was turned 
full on, and the swelling and final bursting of the tubing in 
a weak place, under the force of the water.  
   The melting of ice; the floating and sinking of different 
objects; the suction of a mop which just fitted into a mug.  
   The construction and use of a large spanner; the con- 
struction of the wooden vice on the carpenter's bench, and 
of the spinning-wheel; the use of the punch for making holes 
in paper; and of small hand-drills; the way in which 
draughts would roll when set on their rims; a pendulum 
with a movable hob.  
   Many weather observations.  
   The older group (5;5 to 10;5) were also interested in the 
following:  the setting up, construction and use of a drilling 
machine and a lathe; the setting up of the parts of a 
spinning-wheel and of wooden looms by use of diagrams; 
spirit levels and callipers; the construction of a clock; con- 
struction and use of a typewriter; of the boiler furnace, flues 
and radiators.  
   The melting and fusion of glass; the distillation of water; 
the expansion of metal under heat -- ball and ring apparatus, 
and bar with pointer; the colouration of copper filings when 
heated (they were not yet told it oxidation); the 
evaporation and burning of soda crystals.  
   The fact that "pumice stone does not hurt when you rub 
with it, although it's so hard". 
   The burning of sugar; the relative heat of different parts 
of the Bunsen flame; the use of soda crystals in washing 
greasy plates; the use of putty.  
   The repair of an electric bell; the use and effect of gauze
over the flame of the Bunsen burner; the use of thermometers.  
   The construction of the R 33 and airships in general; the 
size of the Leviathan, and whether it could sail up rivers; 
seas and rivers "round the world"; lighthouses, foghorns, 
life-belts, the use of piers.  
   The use and construction of the science balance; the 
construction of a bicycle.  
   The effect of keeping one's fingers on one end of a U tube, 
when trying to pour water into the other end; the convex 
surface of one of the lamps used by the men who made the 
school film;1 the dynamo (on a motor lorry outside the 
school door) for the arc lamps; the film cameras.  
   "The beginning of the world." 
 
                   12.  EXCURSIONS 
 
FIRST YEAR.  These were usually in the afternoon, when 
the number of children was smaller.  Many walks on the 
fens were taken at all seasons of the year.  The children sailed
their boats and paddled in the ponds.  They often picnicked 
up the river in punts or canoes.  They went to the railway 
station to watch the trains and engines shunting, and watched 
roads being repaired, electric cables being laid and pipes 
mended, etc.  There were occasional shopping visits to buy 
school material and toys, etc. for themselves.  
 
SECOND YEAR.  There were many walks on the fens -- in 
winter to look at the ice on the pools and river margin, in 
summer to paddle and sail boats of different kinds on the 
pools; and picnics in punts or canoes.  
   Many hours were spent in watching the making of the new 
road with a bridge over the river -- the digging out of the 
foundations, the fixing of the concrete base and pillars of the 
bridge, the swinging of the cranes carrying great blocks of 
stone, etc.  
   The children watched a new gas-main being put down in 
one of the roads, with absorbed interest.  
   They made many visits to real shops, to buy toys or sweets 
with their own money, or to choose cotton stuff, paints, writing 
and cooking materials for the school; and to the Post-office 
to buy stamps.  The Bank was visited to draw money before 
shopping, and several of the children went to the Telephone 
Exchange and the Fire-station, and often to the railway station 
and goods yard.  

  1 See note on p. 145.  

THIRD YEAR.  Besides the usual walks and picnics on the 
fens and the river, and bus journeys into the country, the
older children went to a ladder-maker's and wheelwright's to 
order ladders and see them being made; a sawmill, to watch 
logs being cut up; the Round Church, and some of the 
Colleges; the Botanic Garden; the Ethnological, Natural 
History and Fitzwilliam Museums; to the Zoo in London; 
and up on the Gogmagog hills at dawn on the occasion of 
the June eclipse of the sun.  


                        APPENDIX A 
 
                CHILDREN'S "WHY" QUESTIONS 
                        
                            BY 

                      NATHAN ISSACS
 
                         CONTENTS 


SECTION I. -- THEORETIC ANALYSIS.  

   (1) A THESIS.  
   (2) THE PROBLEM.  
   (3) A SUGGESTED ANSWER.  
   (4) A CLOSER SURVEY: 

            (A) The Reality of the Stimulus.  
                (a) The groundwork of the reaction.  
                (b) Functional reinforcement.  
                (c) Reinforcement by consequences.  
                (d) Frequency of occasions.  
                (e) General functional significance.  

            (B) The Character of the Effect.  
                (a) The epistemic question.  
                (b) The openness of the answer.  

            (C) The Key-function of  Why".  

            (D) The Multiple Meanings of "Why". 

            (E) Children and the Word  Why".  
 
SECTION II. -- SOME EVIDENTIAL FACTS.  

   (1) PREFATORY NOT ON THE MOST DISTINCTIVE "WHY".
   (2) THE DATA DRAWN ON.  
   (3) SOME SPECIMEN CLEAR QUESTIONS.  
   (4) SOME REJECTIONS OF FAULTY ADULT ANSWERS.  
   (5) A DOUBTFUL CASE.  
   (6) TESTIMONY FROM THE ADVERSE EVIDENCE.  
   (7) A BATCH OF TYPICAL EVIDENCE IN SUPPORT.  

SECTION III -- THEORETICAL PROBLEMS AND ISSUES.  

   (1) A CASE FOR ADEQUATE INQUIRY-AND ITS CONDITIONS.  

   (2) THE OUTCOME SO FAR.  

   (3) THE CONFLICT WITH PIAGET'S VIEWS.  

            (a) An alternative to Piaget's interpretation of the 
                differences between the child's and the adult's 
                "why's".  
            (b) Attempt at re-interpretation of Piaget's findings.
            (c) Epitome of result of this re-interpretation.  
 

SECTION IV. -- CONCLUSIONS AND APPLICATIONS. 
 
   (1) CHILDREN'S "WHY" INTEREST IN THE CONCRETE.  
 
   (2) THE HISTORY OF THE "WHY INTEREST.  
 
   (3) WHY AND THE DEVELOPMENT OR CAUSAL INTEREST.  
 
   (4) EXPLANATION AND EDUCATION:  A POSSIBLE MORAL.  
    

            SECTION I. -- THEORETICAL ANALYSIS 

                      1.  A THESIS 
 
   The topic of children's "why" questions is, I believe, 
worth special attention in connection with the general issue 
of the relation of child thought to adult thought.  Contrary 
to such views as Piaget's, these questions seem to me to bear 
witness to the essential identity of structure and function of 
thought throughout our life history.  And their evidence at the 
same time throws a great deal of light upon the fundamental 
dynamics of cognitive development whenever and wherever 
it occurs, in the adult as in the child.  
   The child's "why's" -- or rather, one important and common 
class of them -- appear to me to show him actively interested 
in his knowledge as such and directly concerned with the 
question whether it is (a) correct, (b) sufficient, and (c) clear 
and unambiguous.  
   I am naturally not suggesting that any child would or could 
formulate any concern of such a kind, but only that children 
do in fact act it out, and that their "why" questions can 
be shown to represent this acting out.  Even so, it may well
seem a wildly improbable concern to impute to the child.  It 
may be thought quite out of harmony, not only with Piaget' 
findings, but with the whole trend of present day psychology, 
with its stress on the primacy of the instinctual life, and the 
late development, at the best, of any disinterested concern 
with knowledge as such.  
   There are, however, powerful reasons, good instinctual 
reasons, for such a concern from the beginnings of the child's 
life, and I hope to give evidence that the capacity for it is not 
lacking.  And as will be seen, it has to be a "disinterested" 
concern, l.e., a concern only with knowledge as such, other-
wise it will not serve.  The instincts and needs it is called 
upon to help will not be helped by it.  But it is there all 
the same to serve them, and it is sustained by them.  
   I believe that the foregoing view seems improbable only 
because we are still too liable, under the influence of our 
philosophic tradition, to take a faculty view of cognition, even 
if we avoid it everywhere else.  We treat it in separation from 
the active current of our lives, and in the very problem of 
its relation to the rest of our life, we try to relate it as if from 
outside.  It is the relation to life of the faculty of knowledge --  
a thing distinct and apart, whether superordinate, coordinate, 
subordinate or even illusory -- that we consider.  
  
                      2.  THE PROBLEM 
 
   Now if I am right, "why" questions are capable of yielding 
just that evidence and insight which might most readily assist 
us to break down this false division.  They can help us to 
integrate knowledge into that cumulative history of inter- 
action between the human organism and its environment which 
provides the main substance of our human psychology.  But 
under the influence of the self-same philosophic tradition, we 
approach "why" questions in a way which is bound to miss 
this most important aspect of them.  We examine them only 
in relation to our theoretical ideals of knowledge (causal or 
logical explanation, etc.).  We treat them as logical entities, 
corresponding to those other logical entities, explanations.  
We note the child's "why's" as evidence of his attitude 
towards causal explanation; we find him capable or incapable 
of appreciating physical or mechanical causality, interested 
or uninterested in it; we observe his proneness to anthropo- 
morphic assumptions and draw conclusions from this as to 
the structure of his thought.  But all the time we remain 
within an abstracted world of knowledge, of pure theoretical 
interests and beliefs.  It is a world of contents, not of events.  
It is the world of the faculty of knowledge.  
   But for the psychologist, "why" questions should before 
everything else be psychic events.  They are definite acts of 
behaviour, and his problem should be:  what are their causes
and functions?  In what situations do they arise?  What 
is their relation to these situations? 
   We know of course that they are demands or appeals for 
explanation.  But what is it that causes these demands?  We 
need the answer to this question in order to determine the 
psychological function of explanation itself.  It is a question 
of fact, not of logic, and we must start, not from types 
of explanation, but from "why" questions as the prior 
psychological fact.  
   What kind of situation is it then that happens to or in the 
child and produces the need or demand expressed as a "why" 
question? 
 
                      3.  A SUGGESTED ANSWER 
 
   Now we naturally have to take care not to assume that 
all "why" questions express the same kinds of needs and 
arise out of the same sort of situation.  There are, in fact,
several different types which need to be carefully distinguished.  
The customary treatment of children's "why's" covers some 
of them (though not, I think, very satisfactorily, because 
always from the point of view of types of explanation).  I 
wish, however, to focus attention here upon one particular 
type of question which this traditional static approach has 
tended to disregard.  It is based upon a situation that seems 
to me to be peculiarly important and to throw an essential 
light not only on the meaning of children's "why's", but 
also on the relation of our knowledge to our total life-history.  
   This situation is that of a sudden clash, gap or disparity 
between our past experience and any present event.  
   Some fact is met which is contrary to expectation, or 
unexpected, or creates confusion or difficulty as to what to 
expect next.  Something has gone wrong with our habitual 
knowledge or assumptions.  We need to find out what it is 
and to put it right.  We are pulled up, thrown out of our 
course, caught unprepared, or left without any clear guidance, 
and we have to deal with the obstruction.  
   This kind of state is, I think, the key to the most distinctive 
meaning of the "why" question -- and a meaning as real 
for children as for adults.  The question serves as expression 
or formulation of this state, and, when addressed to others, 
as an appeal to them for help in remedying it.  Explanation, 
in its corresponding, sense, is the provision of the right 
remedy.  
   That it is the surprising or anomalous that starts off thought 
is of course a commonplace of genetic psychology.  But as 
a consequence of our faculty philosophy of knowledge, this has 
tended to be conceived as a mere stimulus action which sets 
the machinery of thought in motion, the nature of its motion 
being then a function of the nature of the machinery e.g., 
for Stern, the innate category of causality, for Piaget, the
ego-centric structure of the child's mind, etc.  But the point 
about the type of experience to which I am referring is that 
it is not merely a stimulus or release; it presents a specific 
problem.  It demands specific thought directed to the problem.  
There is a contradiction to be resolved, an obstruction to be 
overcome.  Some x has to be found which will actually achieve 
this.  
   The effect, in the case of the young child, can only be a 
state of puzzlement, and a process of fumbling and groping 
and random activity until in the easiest cases some sort of 
solution or at least get-away is chanced upon.  But that will 
not carry the child very far; in general, this type of difficulty 
is almost insuperable unhelped, because its very cause is the 
breakdown of the machinery for self-help.  The latter is based 
upon successful and satisfactory knowledge; but the state 
with which we are concerned is one in which our know-
ledge suddenly fails us, or some fact actually contradicts or 
subverts it.
   The significant fact, however, is that there is one discovery 
which it is fairly easy for the child to make.  He discovers 
that there is a definite way in which he can secure adult help 
in his difficulty.  He finds out that the word "why" will 
carry the meaning of a wish for help in this situation: he 
learns to use it in order to ask for an explanation.
   With the help of the explanations thus received, he comes 
gradually to be able to do more for himself in similar situa-
tions.  He learns to distinguish different kinds, to recognise 
them rapidly, and to tell in what directions to look for a 
solution.  In a large number of cases, he becomes able to 
ask at once for the right kind of explanation, and this permits 
him further to answer an increasing proportion of his ques-
tions himself.  But he also remains liable still to the
originalexperience:  a sudden sharp breakdown, at some point, of 
his cognitive organisation up to date, with at least temporary 
at-a-lossness and helplessness.  In such cases he can still only 
resort to the original open "why", and appeal for an 
explanation at large, whatever it may prove to be.
   We thus get "why" questions as general responses to 
cognitive challenge, but also as specific responses to certain 
recognised types of challenge -- as demands for explanation as 
such, but also as demands for certain recognised types of 
explanation.
   This applies alike to children from about four years onwards 
and to the most mature adults.  Both types of question are 
represented in both, and the only difference is that the second 
type, which grows by experience of explanations actually 
secured, is much more highly differentiated and systematised 
in the adult.  But it is the first type which is the primary 
one.  It is and remains the one directly concerned with the 
correctness, sufficiency and clarity of our knowledge as such.  
And it is clearly and definitely represented in children from
about four years onwards.  I hope that the evidence to follow 
will sufficiently establish this.

                      4.  A CLOSER SURVEY

   The foregoing gives the broad plan of the argument.  Let
us consider it somewhat more closely before going on to the 
evidence.

A.  THE REALITY OF THE STIMULUS.  

   The first essential point is that the jars and jolts, break- 
downs and confusions which arise from disparity between 
past experience and present fact are as real and as important 
for the child as for us.  

            (a) The groundwork of the reaction.  As is well known, 
vigorous reactions to the unexpected or anti-expected occur 
as early as the first year.  By the third year there are, 
moreover, striking negative responses to mixtures of the 
familiar and unfamiliar (Stern and Groos).1

            (b) Functional reinforcement.  It is easy to see how 
much these immediate reactions must be strengthened by 
the very nature of the child's development.  From his first 
recognitions and pre-adjustments onwards, he goes on piecing 
together, from the repetitions and recurrences in his experi- 
ence, an organisation of beliefs and expectations which covers 
more and more of the field of his experience, and more and 
more determines his course in advance of actual perception.  
He comes to approach most of his situations with a definite, 
even if unformulated, expectation set, a certain momentum or 
pressure towards some assumed development of the situation.  
If it then all at once breaks away from this development, the 
prepared expectation set collapses, and a sharp jar and con- 
fusion or a sudden drop into helplessness are bound to occur.  

            (c) Reinforcement by consequences.  But there is more 
to this experience than the mere immediate experience.  It 
can hardly fail to carry some degree or shade of ominous 
significance for the child.  It will inevitably link up in some 
degree with the character of the practical consequences which 
are liable to go with unpreparedness or wrong preparedness.  
The child, like ourselves, is continually committing himself 
on his expectations he is behaving not according to what 
he believes the situation will be.  At the best, error may 
mean failure or disappointment.  But the anti-expected or 
unexpected encounter may also mean danger and fear, shock 
and practical helplessness, or actual hurt, of every kind and 
degree.  Such consequences are very well fitted to leave their 
mark on anything associated with them.  The child has good 
reason to pay voluntary attention to situations of failure or
breakdown of expectation, over and above their direct power 

   1 See W. Stern:  Psychology of Early Child, p. 495; a pene- 
trating analysis, but Stern fails to follow up the clue, because he 
identifies "why" questions with the child's innate causal interest, 
and treats causality as a fixed category.  
of forcing attention to themselves.  Even if beyond the momen- 
tary jar of surprise, there is nothing in particular in them, 
they may well carry some reminder of past occasions when 
there was, and some warning of future occasions when there 
may be.  

            (d) Frequency of occasions.  Again, these failures or break- 
downs of expectations are unluckily no rare accidental affair, 
but a regular periodic consequence of the mode of functioning 
of our knowledge.  Error is indeed the price we pay for our 
successful truths.  It is unfortunate for us that it happens to 
be liable to prove some time a ruinous price, destroying at 
one stroke more than we may have gained by a lifetime of 
accumulated truth -- in fact destroying us.  But it is a price 
we can only try to bate down, not one we can avoid paying.  
This bating down is a matter for slow and painful learning, 
and we -- i.e., the child -- thus start from a maximum liability 
to be carried into error by our successful truths.  We are 
simply led on by their efficacy,into carrying them too far.  
We go on automatically with our successes until they lead 
us into failure, and this is our only way at first of learning 
their limits.  Later on, we learn ways of allowing in advance 
for the limits of some of them, and of positively looking for 
these and testing them.  But always from time to time we 
come upon cases where this has never occurred to us; where 
we have just automatically assumed the indefinite application 
of our successful habitual beliefs; where their limits have 
once again to be first brought home to us by their sudden 
actual failure.  The difference between child and adult con- 
sists primarily in (a) the number of limits which the adult 
has learnt from failure, and (b) what he has learnt about 
the risk of failure from its occurrence.  
   But this learning is just what the child is engaged in that 
is the general burden of my argument.  My present point is 
merely insistence upon the frequency of his learning occasions, 
to complete the case previously based on their efficacy.  

            (e) General functional significance.  That frequency, 
however, must in its turn be understood only as a relative 
fact.  What it is relative to is the overwhelmingly greater 
frequency of our successes.  In the vast majority of cases, 
what happens, or what we perceive next, is congruous with 
what we expect.  The further course of experience fits into 
the expectations which some given beginning has released.  
They run ahead from this or that datum, but the further
data follow their course.  This applies not only to specific 
inferences, beliefs or judgments, linked to particular data, 
but also and most of all to our general familiar picture of 
the world.  The latter is in fact not so much a picture as an 
immensely complicated pattern of unformulated assumptions.  
representing all the tenor of what has been constant in our 
experience and of what makes it experience within a constant, 
familiar world.  This pattern supplies what we take for 
granted in each situation or setting in which we move and 
act.  We have at any moment only such and such data; the 
rest is assumption, based on past familiarity; and it is always 
assumption, among other things, as to what data we are going 
to get next.  It functions wholly implicitly so long as it func- 
tions successfully, though disturbance or failure at once makes 
its presence and anticipative character plain.  But the whole 
time when there is no disturbance, it is in full functioning.  
It is being successful in a hundred thousand ways; the next 
data as we move, turn, or act are what we assumed them to 
be, and the next again, and so on in a continuous process.  
We are paying no attention to this, we are intent only upon 
some end-objective and what is specially involved in our way 
to it, whilst our just assumptions as to its familiar containing 
setting, which the latter is continually verifying, never become 
conscious at all.  
   Now this automatically functioning knowledge, I have sug- 
gested, sooner or later leads us into local error.  But it is 
because it is so much greater than any local errors, that local 
errors can be profited by and corrected.  In what can still 
be safely taken for granted we find the firm ground and the 
leverage with the help of which we raise our knowledge up 
again at the point at which it has collapsed.  
   However, because our knowledge is thus a continuously 
functioning organisation of expectations and assumptions, 
unexpected collapses anywhere involve some sense of strain, 
some shaking of security, as regards the whole.  This is a 
part of the repercussion of our key situation of sudden jar 
or disparity.  We are led into this present mal-functioning or 
failure to function through past successful functioning.  The 
question then is not only:  what was all unsuspectedly wrong 
with the latter -- but also:  how are we to know when anything 
is wrong?  How are we to get rid of this perturbing liability 
to be let down at any time? 
   From this seed no doubt the philosophical problem of 
knowledge develops -- in suitable soils.  But the seed is present 
everywhere.  Even young children can be assumed to be 
liable to some such sense of insecurity and perturbation.  They 
do not have to be supposed to reflect about it.  They need 
only be thought capable, after a number of experienced jars, 
of developing a certain general fear of them.  This fear will 
then be stirred up again, even if only incipiently, by each 
one of them, and will form a part of the total reaction to it.  
And it will then be not merely a matter of specific feared 
consequences, but of the genera] liability to be all at once 
left helpless, of finding oneself betrayed by what one was 
depending on.  
   For as the very outcome of his successful knowledge, the 
child is all the time becoming more and more dependent on 
it.  Upon this successful knowledge and its immense pre- 
ponderance rests the whole growth of his adaptive intelligent 
behaviour.  Upon the correctness of his earliest anticipations.  
his earliest pre-adjustments are built.  And stage by stage,
further and further anticipations, and further pre-adjustments,
adaptations, purposes and plans are piled upon these founda- 
tions, because they hold, and upon each stage in turn because 
it holds.  The local collapses that occur can disturb our 
confidence, but they cannot really disturb the general struc- 
ture.  On this completely depends our every power of doing 
or avoiding, all our ability to plan, the whole of the safety 
we actually possess and so long as we are alive at all, that 
structure must be holding good in a myriad ways.  
   However, once we have such a structure of successful know- 
ledge (and even the child of three must already have built up 
a very extensive and complicated one), we are not concerned 
with its myriad successes, upon which we are reckoning but 
with its occasional failures, which let us down.  These then 
are more than a mere matter of local patching-up.  When 
such sudden and unforeseeable breakdowns occur, the credit 
and dependability of the general structure is involved, and 
we can hardly help being in some degree concerned about it 
as such.  And though this formulation is worlds away from 
the child's from the ordinary unsophisticated adult -- the 
attitude and feeling and direction of behaviour corresponding 
to it are just as much forced upon him as upon us.  What 
happens to him, what he has to fear, and what he needs are 
the same, and he has to feel his way to the same only remedy.  
He needs to be able to depend freely and securely on his 
knowledge, and there is sustained pressure upon him to learn 
to pay attention to its dependability as such, to be alert to 
any challenge to it, and if and where necessary to set it right.  

B.  THE CHARACTER OF EFFECT.  

   The second essential point of the total argument is accord- 
ingly that the cumulative effect of the situations in question,
of clash, jar or disparity, is to stimulate the child to a genuine 
interest in the revision, extension and re-organisation of his 
knowledge.  
   In other words, the immediate involuntary experience leads 
to a voluntary directed activity aiming at the prevention
of future similar experiences; at first on particular similar 
occasions and eventually in general.  

            (a) The epistemic question.  The immediate experience 
turns into a sense of something wrong with knowledge, some 
unsuspected error, insufficiency, or confusion -- or else of some- 
thing wrong with the perception of the supposed fact.  
   There is accordingly generated a striving or endeavour to 
locate what is wrong and to put it right.  Is there a definite 
error, or something missing, or something ambiguous or 
unclear?  If any of these, it must according to the case be 
corrected, supplied or cleared up.  If none of these, then 
what has happened? 
   Let us separate the tangle of competing possibilities which 
are more or less confusedly and vaguely envisaged.  Has 
some previous expectation or belief to be henceforth limited, 
and if so, to what kind of cases?  And by what signs are 
we to know when to apply it and when to inhibit it?  What 
new and different expectation has to be formed for such 
different kinds of cases as this one, where what we thought 
the right expectation has broken down, or where we were taken 
entirely unprepared?  Or were we just hasty or premature, 
is there nothing to "explain" except the presence of some 
circumstance for which we might have looked out, and is 
there nothing to alter except our own degree of attention or 
vigilance?  Or is there still less to "explain" because the 
apparently recalcitrant fact is a mere misperception and closer 
inspection dissolves the whole seeming problem? 

            (b) The openness of the answer.  All these are possible 
alternatives, and the need of the situation is to find out which or 
what is the right one.  And also, what the readjustment is to be 
if readjustment is needed.  The possibilities, once again, are 
not set out side by side as such.  But there is what as behaviour 
corresponds to them:  there is a fumbling and groping and 
turning all round for something that will satisfy the need of 
the situation, whatever that thing may be.  The obstruction 
or difficulty must be resolved something must be found that 
will establish such a relation between fact and knowledge that 
the latter will once again be a true, clear and sufficient guide.  
How it is to be done -- whether by altering the "knowledge", 
interposing new, or re-attending to the fact -- is just what one 
does not know.  That is what has to be found out.  The 
situation is an open one; its need is not this, that or the 
other way out, but a way out.  It has happened in the past 
that ways out were found or offered; when they were offered, 
they proved real ways out.  What is wanted is something 
which when found or offered will in the same fashion prove 
a way out.  

C.  THE KEY-FUNCTION OF "WHY". 

   We are thus brought to the third essential point of the 
argument, which is that "why", in one of its senses, is the 
appointed symbol for the conveyance of the above situation 
and need, and is so taken up by the child.  In this sense 
"why" means therefore open-minded puzzlement, a demand 
for any sort of help which will actually help to put one right.  
 
D.  THE MULTIPLE MEANINGS OF "WHY". 

   Here, however, we come upon the question of the confusing 
multitude of meanings of "why", which cannot be too care- 
fully dealt with.  An adequate analysis of all these meanings is 
not possible here, but I hope that the following will sufficiently 
clear the ground for my present purpose.  
   Over and above the meaning considered here, there are a 
considerable number of others which may in the first place be 
roughly divided into two groups; one notably different, the 
other, distinct but still closely connected.  
   These meanings seem to me to be all originally related 
in some way to situations of anti-expectedness, unexpected- 
ness or confusion of expectation, but the first group have 
become specialised in a way that has almost severed the 
connection.  

   (i) In this group we have the familiar meanings of "why" 
which express inquiry about motives, intentions, purposes, 
uses, functions, or the specific causes of human or animal 
behaviour or states.  These are typically mere demands for 
special familiar classes of information, not for explanation.  
They are more nearly allied to categorical question forms such 
as "where", "when", "what", "who" -- questions, 
that is, of simple ignorance -- than to "why" as the question 
of puzzlement.  The distinction is of course functionally a 
most important one.  Questions of ignorance and information 
arise out of the successful functioning of our cognitive organisa- 
tion, and remain part and parcel of it; they provide a 
scheme which fully predefines the character of the answer, 
and leave only a specified blank to be filled in.  They 
continue our previous course.  Questions of epistemic puzzle- 
ment and explanation, on the contrary, start typically from 
an intrusive, obstructive presence, which falsifies or challenges 
our course, and forces upon us the search for some way of 
reorientation or readjustment (unless, as we say, the ham- 
pering fact can be "explained away"!).  
   Nevertheless, the above distinction is not an absolute one.  
An intermediate link is provided by the different types of 
information which are found or offered as explanation in 
particular kinds of situations of puzzlement.  These then come 
to be asked for more and more directly as the kind of 
information appropriate to the given kind of situation.  Ques-
tions of motive, etc., are merely very early and extreme cases 
of this type, which have been developed into practically 
pure informational categories.  They represent the first and 
most marked divergence from the epistemic root-meaning of 
"why" 

   (ii) The second group of distinct but connected "why's", 
on the other hand, represents later derivatives from this root- 
meaning and remains dominated by it.  This group comprises 
questions of causal intervention, causal control, causal deduc- 
tion, and causal selection or analysis.  Here the real interest 
remains explanation.  It is true that a special kind of explana- 
tion is presupposed in the question, so that it is informational 
in a secondary sense, but in the first place this kind of 
information is peculiarly related to the main function of 
explanation as such, and in the second place there is usually 
some puzzlement or sense of difficulty or hitch latent in the 
question, and the information will only be accepted if it 
explains -- otherwise we readily get an open "why" again.  
   Questions of this type by young children will be given.  
Their causal implications will be returned to later, but in this 
connection it may be worth pointing out at once that where 
causal interest is really quite free from any element of epistemic 
puzzlement, it is not usually or naturally expressed in the 
"why" form.  In other words, it is then a simple informa- 
tional question, and has its own form as part of our ordinary 
smooth cognitive functioning.  We ask:  what makes, what 
causes, what is the cause of; and in straightforward cases 
where we use these forms, we should not say "why" ".  

   (iii) A quite different third type of "why" neither 
explanatory nor informational, is that of demand for what 
Piaget calls "logical justification".  This class, no doubt, as 
he points out, links up with "why's" concerning behaviour 
via the intermediate class of "why's" for rules, commands, 
prohibitions, etc.  But it also bears an instructive relation 
to the original why-reaction to clash or unexpectedness.  Just 
as "why" begins by being addressed to actions, behaviour 
or states which are strange or anomalous or take us by sur- 
prise so we address it to beliefs or statements which strike 
us in the same way.  However, our attitude is very far indeed 
from being the same as in the case of physical jars or surprises.  
The real situation, superficially so similar, happens to be 
very different.  The anti-expectedness or unexpectedness of 
other people's beliefs or statements is not as a rule a matter 
of fear or danger to us.  There is no active functional dis- 
turbance about it, no association of disappointment, danger, 
helplessness or hurt.  We pay a handsome tribute to the 
practical sanctions behind our why-interest in physical facts 
by our altered attitude where we find ourselves -- at least 
for the moment -- freed from those sanctions.  We tend to
deal with this form of clash in a way which is the very 
opposite to that forced upon us by the critical practical 
significance of clashes with hard facts.  We assert ourselves 
against the clashing views, refute them, rebut them, spurn 
them or disregard them.  We have indeed provided ourselves 
with a logic which never leaves us without approved methods 
of maintaining rebuttal or producing self-justification -- even 
if those methods cut both ways and the net effect is mere 
deadlock.  Thus the "why" of dialectical challenge is very 
different in nature and trend from that of genuine demand 
for explanation.  It may of course be -- and very often is --  
open to reason and evidence, and in so far as this happens, 
it does represent a valuable development from the original 
sensibility to risk of error, and readiness to attend to any 
possible indication of this.  But that is a matter of individual 
disposition and training, a voluntary addition, as it were, and 
not inherent in the dialectical "why" demand.1  The latter 
must be distinguished as a quite separate usage of "why" 
like that of inquiry as to motive or purpose.  (As such, how- 
ever, it becomes generalised in its turn as a recognised form 
of elicitation of the grounds or basis of any proposition, 
irrespective of its relation to the beliefs of a particular person.  
In this form it makes a different sub-type again.) 

   (iv) In addition to the above collection of types of "why" 
there are others which are not questions at all but exclamations, 
hut which yet should not be omitted altogether, because they 
very clearly bring the affective or dramatic features of the 
primary situation out: they signify protest, anger, helpless- 
ness, surprise, surprised recognition and other variations on 
the same theme.  

   1 See note 1 at end.  
       
E.  CHILDREN  THE WORD  "WHY". 

   The foregoing rough survey of the main kinds of meaning
of the "why" question is intended in the first place to make 
clear by contradistinction the special type, and as I think 
the original and most significant one, with which I am con- 
cerned here.  I have given at the end a table of "why" --   
meanings and modes of explanation which may assist a general 
survey of the field.  
   There is, however, a second reason why the complexity and 
confusion of the meanings of "why" needs to be underlined 
for the purposes of the present argument.  The main import 
of the latter is that children from four to five years onward 
clearly and freely show "why's" " of the epistemic type and 
derivative types, and through them display the identity of the 
dynamic of their thought with that of ours.  If this can be 
established as a fact, it is all the more impressive because 
(a) the earliest usages of "why" to the child can only bring
a motivational or other psychological meaning home to him -- 
when "why" is addressed to him, he is not in a state of 
puzzlement or surprise; (b) the later usages indicated above, 
as the child comes across them, must make up the most 
bewildering shifting medley of meanings, and the child must 
have a very powerful intrinsic drive of attention and interest 
in the right direction if he is to pick out the distinctive 
epistemic meaning of "why" from the tangle.  He does so, 
if I am right, because the experiences and needs which this 
meaning meets were waiting in him for a means of expression 
from his very first years, so that he is ready to grasp at any- 
thing that looks like such a means even from afar.  On the 
other hand, if we take a random collection of children's 
"why's" we have to remember, firstly, the bias we give 
to the meaning of this sound by its first introduction, in favour 
of motives, purposes, etc.; secondly, the multiplicity and 
confusion of our own usages of the sound to or round the child, 
from which he has to collect its meaning as best he can.  We 
may therefore have a great deal of work to do upon the 
interpretation of the verbal material, before we begin to draw 
any conclusions as to the beliefs of the child, true or mid 
taken -- let alone then the peculiar "structure" of his mind.  
Where, however, in spite of these obstacles and difficulties, 
the child plainly testifies to the identity of his cognitive attitude 
and relation to the world with ours, it is evident that we need 
not ask anything better.  

             SECTION II -- SOME EVIDENTIAL FACTS 
 
1.  PREFATORY NOTE ON THE MOST DISTINCTIVE "WHY" 
 
   Coming now to the consideration of actual questions, it may 
be worth while to distinguish a little more clearly what I 
have so far lumped together as concern with the correctness, 
sufficiency and unambiguity of knowledge.  
   The occasions for the first two concerns are plain enough.  
We may, on the one hand, have the most dramatic clash, where 
a definite belief or expectation is or seems suddenly falsified 
by some facts.  Or on the other hand, we may get dramatic 
failures of knowledge, where we come up against some fact 
that is totally unexpected and unprepared for, a fact that 
reveals a quite unsuspected gap in the knowledge or expecta- 
tions which we had been acting on as sufficient in some given 
situation.  In both these kinds of case, attention to our 
knowledge is immediately made important.  In suitable cir- 
cumstances it occurs and leads to a search for readjustment.  
But the actual dramatic experience and its consequences may 
distract or distort or overwhelm the mere epistemic interest.  
There may be no opportunity or no appetite for any question, 
and the demonstrated reality of error or insufficiency may leave 
no room for anything but hasty abandonment or correction,
without as much as any question how we came to fall into it.  
   For the ideal conditions for epistemic interest we must rather 
turn to kinds of occasions which are never anything more than 
mere risk of error, viz., occasions of ambiguity or confusion of 
expectation.  There is no happening in them, only observation.  
Of course their ultimate practical significance is that of future 
risks of disastrous clashes or gaps these are to be forestalled 
by getting the ambiguous rule or control of the situation quite 
clear here and now.  That, however, is a pure epistemic issue.  
The question is:  why does this, so far similar to that, 
suddenly begin to diverge?  Why do these similar things 
behave differently?  In general: "Why . . . . whereas 
. . . ".  The apparent similarity which one might have 
adopted as one's guide is evidently not satisfactory, reliable 
or sufficient:  what is the right controlling rule?  These 
"why's" of difference, divergence, or contrast, between other- 
wise similar things or situations to which one might have 
applied the same rule, are perhaps the most characteristic 
class of "why's", the most open-minded and the most atten- 
tively explored.  They obviously lead by insensible gradations 
to definite anomalies or anti-expectednesses in one direction, to  
sharp unexpectednesses in another.  But in them we can 
most clearly see the epistemic interest, not only the rectifying, 
but the pre-rectifying and forestalling function, of "why". 
Merely possible rules or natural or plausible expectations 
("one would think", "one might expect", etc.) are envisaged 
side by side with their difficulties and apparent flaws.  What 
is sought for is differentiating, delimiting or controlling know- 
ledge.  These "why's" of difference, divergence and contrast 
are in continual use among adults, and one need, I think, 
only invite attention to them to make their epistemic character 
plain.  I hope to show that they are as easily illustrated from 
the questions of young children.  They appear to me to 
constitute the clearest evidence of the reality and the meaning 
of the child's concern with his knowledge.  
 
                      2.  THE DATA DRAWN ON

   In going on now to the factual data, I do not propose to 
confine myself to the "why" questions collected from the 
Malting House records, which in any case happen to be very 
few.  I do not quite know why this should be so; one may 
suppose that far more must have been asked, but that as 
this matter had not been singled out for any special attention, 
they did not get recorded.  When one child stood out by the 
copiousness and persistency of his "why's", they became a 
focus of attention and were put down.  But ordinary occa- 
sional and scattered "why's" were not specially heeded.  If 
my view is right, this is much to be regretted.  A complete 
record of the "why's" of children under conditions such as 
those of the School would have been very illuminating.  I 
rather imagine that those conditions would have been reflected 
in a different distribution of "why's", some kinds tending 
to be more infrequent, whilst others would be increased.  
However, this is idle speculation, and in fact the School records 
are particularly meagre, especially when the performance of 
the one child Phineas is subtracted.  I have therefore drawn 
on the general literature, as far as I have been able to find 
any relevant data in it, and all the more so, in view of the 
generality of my thesis; but I will say at once that the 
quantity of material I have found available is not impressive.  
However, I believe that it will readily be recognised as quali- 
tatively representative.  So much so that there is no point 
in using even all such data as I have collected, and a few 
typical instances are as good as a long, merely repetitive series.  
If I am not much mistaken, most people will have no difficulty 
in matching the kind of questions I shall use from their own 
experience of young children, and it will be obvious that these  
questions do not, as a whole, represent rare exceptions, but  
the sort of thing that is common and ordinary with intelligent  
children.1  
  
  
              3.  SOME SPECIMEN CLEAR QUESTIONS  

   I will begin by offering three examples from children under  
five years of age, examples which seem to me worth particular  
attention in the light of my general argument.  
     (4;1) Why doesn't the ink run out when you hold up a  
           fountain pen?2  
     (4;1) Why does it get lighter outside when you put the  
           light out?  
     (3;9) Why don't we see two things with our two eyes?  
I think it is reasonably apparent (a) that there is no question  
of motive or purpose in these enquiries and (b) what their  
real occasion and meaning is.  The first one especially is  
crystal-clear:  the child is struck by the anomaly of this liquid  
not tipping out as liquids always do when treated like that.  
He is stopped and puzzled.  He wants the difficulty smoothed  
out, the puzzlement removed.  In other words, he wants an  
explanation.  
   This example is one of a definite clash between a familiar  
rule and a contrary present fact.  The second provides a  
similar but less sharply defined anomaly.  When the light is  
put out, it becomes dark, and yet you notice sometimes that  
outside, where it was dark before, it is now lighter.  It seems  
queer.  You would think it would get still darker.  And you  
can't understand how something which makes it dark should  
actually be able to make anything lighter.  Hence again  

   1 For this reason also it seems hardly necessary to give a special  
reference for each question.  I will merely mention hero that apart  
from the School records, and those given as appendices to this 
volume, 
I have mainly drawn upon that notable paper The Scientific Interests  
of a Boy in Pre-School Years, Sully's Studies of Childhood, and a few  
scattered sources.  
   In connection with Sully, let me add that his account of children's  
"why's" still seems to me to hold the field as the best all round one  
available --  at any rate of those known to me.  He intellectualises  
his "why's" too much, and rather turns the child into a little philos-  
opher; but apart from divergences on these points, the present 
analysis  
may be looked upon as a completion of Sully's account, and 
vindication  
of it against more one-sided views.  

   2 The Scientific Interests of a Boy in Pre-School Years.  By Two 
Parents.  "Forum of Education," February, 1928, p. 22.  

perplexity, a sense of something wrong or lacking somewhere  
and a demand for the removal of the anomaly, i.e., an  
explanation.  
   The third example is still of the same type, but not so  
closely tethered to a specific experience.  There is no intrusive  
external fact of challenge.  But there is an anomaly as soon  
as you come to think of it.  At some moment the two separate  
facts of (a) two eyes, and (b) one thing seen, come together  
in the mind of an intelligent child and he sees the strangeness  
and surprisingness of their conjunction.  Usually, when he  
attends to eyes, he attends to them as things seen, like any  
others; and when he attends to other things seen, he is not  
thinking of his two eyes.  But if the two kinds of fact come  
together in his mind, how queer it suddenly seems that you  
don't see one thing each for each eye (which of course can  
see by itself) and so two of each thing because you have two  
eyes.  Why, so unnaturally, does one see only one thing?  
Why doesn't one, as one would expect, see two?  The child  
again feels that there is something wrong somewhere.  Puzzled, 
he turns to the understanding adult for help -- that is, for an  
explanation.  
   It so happens that a great many adults would no doubt  
give a teleological reply to this last question.  E.g., they might 
very plausibly say:  because there is only one thing there, 
and if we saw two, we should get completely muddIed and  
lost.  I do not question that such a reply would usually satisfy  
the child; whether it should quite satisfy the adult to give  
it is another matter.  One might indeed have to agree that  
a more appropriate reply would be more difficult to make  
intelligible to the child; but it might be better to try and  
find some way of overcoming the difficulty than to give an  
irrelevant and misleading explanation -- even though this might  
be much worse.  The child cannot know any better, and in any  
case turns to the adult trustfully, ready as a rule to accept  
whatever he gets as the right help, since offered.  Moreover  
he must in large measure form his standard of what constitutes  
right help, i.e,, satisfactory explanation, from what he gets  
from the adult.  The responsibility rests with the latter.  But  
the important point, for the present argument, is not what  
the adult in his wisdom or unwisdom considers the right answer  
to give, but what is the state of the child when he asks the  
question.  In that state, I suggest, there is nothing whatever  
teleological; the child merely notices a physical, almost an  
arithmetical anomaly:  two seeing eyes and only one seen  
thing.  His interest is purely epistemic; he is held up by a  
contradiction and wants it cleared up.  He does not know  
how to deal with it, and makes no assumption as to how it is  
to be dealt with; and it is just this state of being held up  
that he expresses by the question "why" and through it  
refers to the adult for his help or explanation.  
  
         4.  SOME REJECTIONS OF FAULTY ADULT ANSWERS  
  
   However, it is not an absolute rule that the child will accept 
the adult's explanation, even when it is a teleological one.  
He is quite capable of applying a functional standard of his  
own -- that of the functional need which generates his question.  
   Carrying the case a stage further, we may observe how even  
in cases where "why" specifically refers to human behaviour, 
it need not be motive or purpose as such, but their anomalous-  
ness or contrariness to the accustomed order which is in  
question.1  The situation is in fact exactly on a par with  
physical anomalies; and in one important sense, the child  
might at least as truly be described as a universal mechanist, 
assimilating human behaviour to the physical world, as set  
down as a universal voluntarist, assimilating the physical  
world to human behaviour.  He may assume similar causes  
in the former as in the latter; but he certainly also assumes  
a similar uniformity in the latter as in the former, and applies 
the same criteria.  He is puzzled and put out by human  
behaviour that does not fit into what he has come to look  
upon as its law or invariable rule in a given set of circum-  
stances, just as he is puzzled or put out by physical anomalies, 
the inverted liquid that does not spill, the light put out which  
yet makes the dark lighter, the two seeing eyes that only see  
one thing.  
   Moreover, the child can make quite plain the epistemic  
character of his interest and question, by at once picking out  
the flaw in any explanation which fails to deal with the  
anomaly.  This is exhibited clearly in the following two  
examples.  The first in particular is a striking demonstration  
of the capabilities of child logic.  What seems astonishing  
about it is that a boy of under four and a half years should  
be able so to sustain his criticism and to drive it home at  
last to such deadly effect.  
   I refer to the discussion quoted from Sully on pp 162-3.  
The terms are terms of human actions and ordinances.  But the  

   1 A particularly clear example is the first "Why" of Scupin's boy, 
quoted by Piaget as follows:  "The child's mother was lying on the  
ground.  The boy wants to get her up:  `Du bis ya nicht tot warum  
stehste nichtimmersu auf?'" (The Language and Thought of the Child, 
p. 233.)  

"why" question arises from a sense of anomaly, and presses  
for an explanation of the troubling anomalous fact.  The child  
is preoccupied with the killing of animals.  He asks what  
seems to be an ordinary question of motive or purpose, not  
even in the "why" form, about the killing of seals.  He  
is provided with a purpose.  But that is not really what he  
wants:  he quickly raises the same question about the killing  
of another animal where that purpose does not apply.  "Why   
do they kill the stags?  They don't want the skins, do  they?"  This 
time
the issue is clear.  The adult can only  
reply:  because people want to chase and kill them.  But  
that now only enhances and intensifies the anomaly.  People  
do sometimes want to do horrible things, but in that case  
they are stopped, there are special people to stop them.  What  
has gone wrong in this instance?  "Why don't policemen  
stop them?"  The adult is forced further; he has to define  
the situation still more plainly and sharply.  People are not  
stopped, because killing animals for pleasure ("because they  
like to chase them") is allowed.  "Allowed, allowed?  People  
are not allowed to take other people and kill them."  The  
adult's explanation of the killing is monstrous.  In the process  
of looking for an explanation, the anomaly has simply become  
worse and worse.  There is less than ever one, and yet there  
must be one.  "You don't understand me."  The adult can't  
be seeing that there is something here so horrible and contra-  
dictory to all acknowledged reason and order that there must  
be some explanation, something that somehow makes a differ-  
ence.  One can't have made him understand one.  Killing is  
acknowledged as an abhorrent thing, yet animals are killed.  
Special motives may be offered in some cases, but they won't  
do, they clearly do not apply to others, one is only pulled up  
all the more by a case where they are not the explanation.  
But there must be an explanation -- there must be something  
which if only one knew it, would somehow alter the situation, 
would make the killing of animals like stags in some quite  
unthought of way different, would sharply separate or free it  
from the horror of killing.  For without some such explanation, 
there is the contradiction, there is the fact that animals are  
killed, though killing is something which everybody knows to  
be revolting.  And then the adult makes the contradiction a  
hundred times worse:  animals are killed for pleasure, and  
allowed to be taken and killed.  That cannot be.  Think of  
it with people, is it not monstrous and quite unthinkable?  
The boy could not feel anything else but that they did not  
understand him.  
  The above pedantic dotting of every i of the child's thought  
and expression is not of course offered to increase the force  
of his case (which speaks far more powerfully for itself), but  
rather as a study in the anatomy of the demand for explana-  
tion.  Cases which make the articulation of this demand so  
clear and permit such a sustained and cumulative analysis  
are rare.  
   My second example is in fact of a much simpler order, 
with only one stage of criticism, and that immediately let go, 
together with the original question, in favour of a different  
direction of interest.  However, the principle is the same.  
On p. 358 will be found Rose's question, at 3;8:  "Why  
don't we milk pigs?"  This of course is a clear epistemic  
question of difference or deviation, not of motive or purpose.  
The adult deals with it as such, but unfortunately gives an  
explanation
which is thoroughly bad logically.  "Because  
they (pigs) have little ones of their own to feed."  This is  
presumably suggested by the particular circumstances of the  
actual case, but of course it cannot explain the difference in  
treatment of cow and pig it does not constitute a standing  
difference between them.  The child instantly seizes upon and  
answers the bad logic.  "So do cows have calves!"  Try  
again, mummy!  Only, she now suddenly sights a better  
game, a real first-rate leg-pulling game, and amusingly twists  
her first theoretical interest into that, and drops her merely  
logical quarry.  
   With the above two cases, it seems natural to associate a  
third, where "why" is used in one of its more divergent and  
less epistemic senses, but where the same criteria of control  
of the answer can again be seen applied.  In the episode on  
p. 145,1 "why" is employed in connection with a rule, as  
children easily and quickly learn to do.  This use of "why"  
can in some respects be classified with "why's" of purpose  
or motive, and is no doubt also related to the later "why's"  
of logical justification, but in much of its import, it approaches  
close to the primary functional import of "why".  A rule  
is like an unrelated kind of fact, often an unexpected fact  
and one that interferes with one's course and may easily stop  
it.  One needs to be able to foresee the rule, to adapt oneself  
to it in advance, or at the very least, when one comes up  
against it, to learn to link it up in some way with things one  

1 "12.11.24. While Mrs. I. was sitting near Benjie (4:1), helping 
turn to put on his shoes, he said reflectively, `Why do we have to 
pick up things that we put on the floor?'  Mrs. I. replied, `Well, 
if we left them on the floor, and were running and trod on them, we  
might break them, mightn't we?'  He said, `We shouldn't break  
those big bricks, should we?'  Mrs. I.  `No, but perhaps we should 
hurt our feet on them.' This seemed to content him." 
already accepts, understands, and has in some sense mastered.  
The "why" question thus comes to aim not merely at any  
sort of familiar motive or purpose for the rule, but at a ground 
or justification which will make it clear what there is to make  
this rule necessary or desirable.  If the child can get it trans  
lated into terms of actual things and their behaviour and  
effects, he can feel that he is on known firm ground.  He can  
foresee what rules will be called for by those things from  
occasion to occasion, instead of being taken by surprise by  
them.  And in the converse way. he will not run the same  
amount of risk of suddenly finding that some rule of which he  
does not understand the ground or basis lets him down -- does  
not apply in this or that case.  Therefore he asks for the  
means to his own understanding, which signifies foresight, 
control and security.  
   But therefore also what is proffered in reply must serve.  
An alert and intelligent child may accordingly at once weigh  up 
what is
offered to him, and reject it if not up to standard.  
The logic of the situation is the same as that of the previous  
examples.  The ground supplied must cover all cases of the  
rule, else it is not the right ground for that rule.  If it is  
merely based upon some special feature of some cases of the  
rule, it is fallacious and useless for its function.  You cannot  
understand the rule through it, nor use it as a key or control  
as to where the rule will and where it will not apply.  
   But adequate objective grounds for rules are not easy to  
produce point-blank on demand.  At the best they may happen  
to be very complicated and at many removes from straight-  
forward external facts; but it may also happen that no  
sufficient grounds exist!  
   The latter type of rule the Malting House School tried hard  
to avoid, and even the former was minimised as much as  
possible, though of course it could not be avoided.  And  
simple and easily intelligible objective grounds which would  
in fact give the child the utmost possible power of under-  
standing the rules and foreseeing them, were always valiantly  
tried for.  
   Thus the child's challenge was met at once in fact a little  
too quickly.  The objective basis or firm ground offered for  
the rule about picking up things was the risk of breaking them.  
But if you start giving reasons to an intelligent child, the  
child may reward you by applying reason to them, and in  
that case it is as well to make sure in advance that one can  
afford to risk that reward.  The child instantly perceived  
that the ground offered did not match the rule.  It might have  
been a ground for a rule of picking up breakable things, it  
was not a ground for picking up things at large.  He lodges  
his perfectly valid objection:  "we shouldn't break those  
big bricks!"  A better reason is needed; the firm ground  
he wants is not there yet; try again, "Mrs. I.".  
   Well "Mrs. I." tries again, but alas, only tries a further  
special reason for a further special case.  One hopes that the  
child quoted by Sully would not have let himself be put off  
like that.  He would have found a case where no hurt would  
happen either to what was left about or to those who were  
using the room, and he would have gone on insisting for a  
valid reason (or a sufficient collection of reasons) for the rule.  
But it needs no doubt a strong motive, as well as unusual  
powers of resistance to casuistry, to go on resisting a succession  
of plausible reasons which merely happen not to be sufficient.  
There would not be many adults who would not have let  
themselves be persuaded that "Mrs. I.'s" second ground, 
added to her first, cleared things up.  One is certainly con-  
tinually accepting this mixture of reason and suggestion in  
everyday life.  It is not surprising, and not discreditable to  
him, that Benjie seemed content; he had not got a sufficient  
reason for his rule, but he had a pair of quite good reasons.  
And of course he also had the prestige of the adult to back  them, and 
his
inevitable great plasticity to this prestige.  More-  
over, as has already been remarked, whatever the child's  
original functional standard may be, through turning to the  
adult for guidance he offers his very standard, at least in  
some degree, to the adult's moulding.  One can even say  
that, up to a point, the more helpful guidance he gets on  
the whole, the more he may lay himself open to take over any  
unhelpful leads as well -- as if they were one of the forms  
or degrees of helpfulness, drawn from the superior wisdom  
of the adult.  The responsibility for the right or the wrong  
help rests with the latter.  
    
            5.  A DOUBTFUL CASE  

   I have dealt in some detail with these striking cases, because 
they belong to ground where, if anywhere, the child's mere  
concern with purposes or motives might be expected to exert  
the fullest sway, whilst yet a sharply critical epistemic logic  
has in fact been found present.  It may now he worth  
glancing at a special case provided by the School records, 
where "why" has certainly degenerated in some measure  
into mere automatism and it might seem that there is nothing  
to be expected from it.  Yet closer inspection once more  
shows clearly that underneath the automatic degeneration of  
the function, its genuine characters still remain present and  
operative. 
   Phineas' "why's"1 are probably in part a function of his  
temperament, and express a certain vehement impatience with  
anything of any kind that offers opposition to his knowledge, 
understanding or purposes.  Accordingly he is often mainly  
concerned to discharge this feeling, and just passes on from  
one such discharge to another without settling down to any  
attempt to clear up the obstacle.  Explosive protest takes  
the place of the prolonged and held state of puzzlement.  
Hence he is in fact much of the time relatively uninterested  
in explanation when he has made his protest and so relieved  
his feelings, he can go on to the next thing.  
   But one reason why he goes on so often is no doubt just  
that he is not really left at a loss.  Since he overflows into  
"why" at the least touch of anything like obstruction, he  
does so frequently when the obstruction is one which he need  
only bother with to overcome.  He needs no help, or only  
the barest touch of it; he can supply his own explanation.  
   Thus, note 24 and 25.2.27 (p. 149).  As soon as his "why"  
is retorted on him, he gives his own perfectly just physical  
explanation.  No doubt in some cases -- though hardly in  
24.2.27 -- the retort of his question helps to turn his attention  
to the explanatory fact; but even so, it presents no difficulty  
to him, he has only to read it off.  Of course, the "why's"  
in question are not "why's" of pure open puzzlement, 
"why's" of breakdown of knowledge or sharp clash between  
knowledge and
event.  They belong to the class of causal  
derivatives.  They represent indeed unexpected and uncustom-  
ary events; but of a kind which plainly suggests the  
interposition of a special cause.  So that "why" here means  
merely:  what special disturbing or interfering cause or fact  
produces this disturbance of the usual or expected course of  
events.  We get this clearly in "Why won't it burn?"  
(25.2.27) as in all the large class of negative questions of  
this type.  They are definitely questions for preventive or  
interfering causes.  They represent one of the most important  
lines along which causal interest branches off from epistemic.  
Incidentally they are sufficient of themselves to vindicate the  
causal interest and capacity of young children, since their  
causal meaning is as a rule quite unmistakable, and leaves  
no room for any anthropomorphic or purposive interpretation.  
   Even in Phineas, however, we get "why's" of very  
genuine puzzlement, based upon sheer disappointment of

   1 See, e.g., pp. 148-149.  

expectation.  E.g., when on 27.1.27 (p. 148) his starch did  
not turn blue, as Miss C.'s had done, and on 2.2.27 (p. 149)  
he applied a match to every hole of an old gas-fire, and asked, 
"Wy won't it burn?"  this time really at a loss.  The  
spate of "why's" on 21.1.27, when he was only 3;11, con-  
nected with the picture of the station has been dealt with  
in the main text (pp. 85-86).  It would certainly seem here that  
whilst some of the "why's" taken separately are mere  
pointers and exclamation marks, and others simple demands  
for motives or purposes, the meaning of his whole behaviour  
is a reaction to the unfamiliar and unrelated construction  
of the picture, as against his experience of actual stations.  
He notices and challenges what is missing.  He notices and  
challenges where the picture fails to meet the obvious demands  
of real trains, the stoppage of the railway lines at the margin, 
the fact that you could not see the railway go on, etc.  If this  
was a picture of the station, why wasn't it like the station?    
  
            6.  TESTIMONY FROM THE ADVERSE EVIDENCE  

   By way of clinching the case so far, we may now glance  
at some of Piaget's own records of questions.  These emanate  
from a child of 6-7, i.e., a rather later age than my argument  
calls for, but on the other hand this is a child whom Piaget  
definitely finds to be in the precausal stage.  Let us consider  
the following:  

     Why haven't little goats any milk?  
     Why are there waves only at the edge of the lake?  
     Why can you see lightning better at night?  
     Why do ladies not have beards?  
     Why are the funnels (on a boat) slanting?  
     Why do wood and iron rub out pencil marks?  
     Why do animals not mind drinking dirty water?  
     Why have you got little ears and I have big ones although  
         I am small?  
     Why is my dadder bigger than you although he is young?  
     Why has it (a dead caterpillar) grown quite small?  
  
   I suggest that all these are definitely epistemic "why's".
Their subject matter -- i.e., whether human, animal or  
physical -- is immaterial to their meaning.  An element of  
vague supposition of possible motive or intention may be  
admired in some of them, but it is at the most only an  
element; there is no evidence whatever of it in other instances, 
and it does not affect the common character of all these  
questions, which has nothing to do with motive.  They are  
all cases of anomaly, deviation, contrast or difference and  
the "why" question is a demand for help in dealing with  
them, since past experience leaves the child at a loss about  
them.  Why should the little goats not have milk, while the  
big have?  What is there about little goats that makes the  
difference?  Since there are waves at the edge (i.e., in one  
part) of the lake, how is it that there are none elsewhere, what  
is there that makes the difference between the edge and the  
rest? -- At night most things can't be seen or only very  
poorly; why should lightning actually be seen better then? --  
What is it that prevents ladies from having beards like men, 
what underlies this difference between them and men? -- 
Chimneys always go up straight; that is part of the picture  
of a chimney.  Now all of a sudden, on the boat here, they  
are bent.  What a queer thing, a bent chimney.  What makes  
them be different like that? -- You often write with a pencil,
and that is what a pencil does, it makes marks.  You presently  
try writing on a table or a stove, and the pencil marks either  
do not come out at all, or seen, to go off at once, as if the  
wood or iron rubbed them out as they were made.  Of course  
you notice that that happens when you are writing on wood  
or iron instead of, as usual, on paper.  (Perhaps even, when  
you find that the table or stove rub out the marks, you now  
specially try other things, and you find that it is always wood  
and iron that rub out in this way.) And so you ask:  what  
is there about wood and iron (as against paper, or different  
from paper) which prevents a pencil from leaving the  
proper pencil marks? -- Dirty water is something that seems  
disgusting to you and to everybody else to drink; yet  
animals do not mind it.  How extraordinary!  Why is it not  
disgusting to them?  What makes them not mind it?  What  
is it that makes the animals feel or act so differently from us, 
so contrary to everything one would have imagined? -- You  
expect little ears in anybody small, big ears in anybody big.  
How does it come about that it is the other way round here?  
 -- In the same way, as people grow older, they grow bigger.  Yet my 
daddy
who is young is bigger than you (evidently  
taken for older).  How is that? -- How strange, a thing like  
a caterpillar grown much smaller than it was.  You might  
expect it to grow bigger, and anyhow, not smaller.  This  
dead caterpillar:  what has happened to make it go small?  
And is there perhaps a connection between death and growing  
small?  "When I die, shall I also grow quite small?"  
   Piaget takes a different view of these questions, (which are  
scattered among his various categories), and finds that they  
either demand, or at least fit into, his general scheme of the  
intentionalising attitude and assumptions of the child.  In the  
presence of the impressive body of evidence he has brought  
together, which seems plausibly to demand conclusions such  
as his, some attempt to meet the force of his data and interpre-  
tations is clearly called for.  My general case will, I hope, 
seem reasonably established as far as it goes, independently  
of this attempt, but the questions are:  what relation does it  
bear to those other data?  How are the two sets, pointing  
such different ways, to be harmonised?  Do Piaget's data  
limit or qualify the interpretations offered here?  Or if my  
view is just, what re-interpretation in its light do his data  
permit?  
   But these questions will come better after a further and  
larger body of supporting instances, to which therefore I now  
proceed.  
 
         7.  A BATCH OF TYPICAL EVIDENCE IN SUPPORT:  

3;6   It (exit of a tunnel at a distance) looks very weeny.  
          Why does it?  
3;7   Why can I put my hand through water and not through  
          soap?
3;7   Why do ponies not grow big like other horses?  
3;7   What's there?  (Of houses behind a fence at night.)  
          Houses.  Why can't we see them?  
3;9   Why are the snails in the water?  
3;10  (About a spinning-wheel when the strap had slipped off  
          the wheel.) Why won't it work?  
3;11  Why won't it (wet raffia held in fire) burn?  
3;11  Why didn't it (starch paste) turn blue?  
3;11  Why won't it (old gas fire) burn?  
3;11  Why does it (Bunsen burner choked with matches) burn?  
3;11  Why did it (burner held in water) go out?  
4;0   (Seeing word PULL on lavatory Pull), Why are there  
          two l's?  We don't need two, do we?  One would  
          do, wouldn't it?  Why has it got PULL?  We  
          know what to do, don't we?  We don't need that, 
          do we?  
4;1   Why does the soap look smaller in the water?  
4;0   Why don't they (shadows) go before us?  
4;1   Why is there no shadow when there is no light?  
4;3   Why can't we see the stars in the day-time?  
4;4   Why doesn't the butter stay on top (of hot toast) ?  
4;5   Why does the water spread out flat (in the bath) ?  Why  
          won't it keep up in the middle?  
4;5   Why do you see the lightning before you hear the thunder?  
4;5   Why am I not in two all the way up?  
4;5   Why does the glass look different in the water, but it  
          doesn't if you just put water in the glass?  The  
          water can't really bend the glass, can it?  
4;11  Why can't we sharpen them (pencils) like they were when  
          we first got them, all round and smooth?  (And  
          note the boy's own answer:  I know, it's because  
          they're not done with a knife; they're done with  
          those things that you turn round.)  
5;0   Why does water go out of the way when anything goes in?  
5;0   Why don't trains stop and start off suddenly express?  
  A few examples from older children may be noted also:  
6;0   Why does the beam of sunlight stay so narrow?  Why is  
          it on this side of the room in the morning and the  
          other at night?  
6;6   Why do the angels never fall down to earth when there is  
          no floor to heaven?  
7;0   Why can't you see the messages on the telegraph wires?  
          How do they go?  
7;0   Why  does a square piece of wood look round when the  
          lathe is working?  
7;4   Hasn't it (a sparrow) any teeth?  Why hasn't it?  
   In the above examples there is always, either directly pre-  
sented or close to the surface, some habitual experience, some  
natural expectation from habitual experience, which appears  
falsified, or challenged, or at least confused, by present fact.  
The snail in the water, when snails are always found on land  
the sparrow which so surprisingly is found not to have any  
teeth like the animals familiarly known to the child; the  
water that, unlike other heaped up things, won't make a  
heap; and also unlike other things, goes out of the way when  
anything goes in; the express trains that are supposed to  
go as fast as possible, but are so slow in starting and stopping;  
the pencils that can't be sharpened now as they certainly  
were sharpened at the start; the tunnel exit that looks so  
small, quite unlike any tunnel exit one has ever gone through  
and so on, and so forth; all these are matters that need  
explaining.  In other words, they need so dealing with that  
you will know when to expect the one kind of fact, and when  
the other, how the queer fact is brought about and the usual  
one prevented, or whether, by any chance, the queer fact is  
not so at all (one "thought it was funny"):  whatever, in  
brief, you need in order to make this fact like other facts, 
and to get over the hitch or difficulty.  

            SECTION III. -- THEORETICAL PROBLEMS AND, 
                          ISSUES  

1.    A CASE FOR ADEQUATE INQUIRY -- AND ITS CONDITIONS  
  
   I imagine that instances to swell the foregoing list could  
be collected from almost any child left free to interest himself  
in the world about him.  Those given are mainly intended as  
illustrations.1  For the chief purpose of my argument, for  
establishing the reality and the character of what I have called  
the epistemic why question in young children, the instances  
given seems to me sufficient.  They range over a number  
of different children of five years of age and under, well  
scattered in time and place, and there appears to me to be  
good reason for thinking them representative.  But, of course, 
a really wide and systematic collection of the "why's" of  
children under, say, six is needed to provide full scientific  
data as to the extent, and variations in extent, of children's  
epistemic interest.  This interest might well be found to vary  
with individual temperament, with native trend of interest, 
with intelligence, with general social setting, and with educa-  
tional influences in the widest sense.  It would be important  
to discover how much in it was innate and uncontrollable, 
how much open to instructed and thought-out environmental  
control.  Moreover, given a large body of systematic data, the  
detailed study of all the varieties of experience and response  
distinguishable within children's epistemic interests would also, 
I believe, add a great deal to our insight into the general  
functional development of thought.  
   Possibly the present argument may help to make the neces-  
sary record seem worth while to some among those who have  
the opportunity for it; and it may also suggest some very  
essential precautions which are liable to be overlooked.  I  
have already stressed the importance of distinguishing between  
the thought of the child, and the sound "why" and its  
history.  Observers of children have been liable to hail some  
child's first "why's" as if these defined his attitude to the  
universe instead of merely his reaction to a repeated parental  
sound.  In any study of the first development of the use of  
"why", the parent's primary part, the history of his intro-  
duction of the sound, cannot in effect be omitted.  It comes  

   1 Quite by chance, a friend has just mentioned the following 
question  
of her boy of 3;8:  
   "When a building has a corrugated iron roof, why is the corrugated  
iron always crinkly, and not flat like the other sorts?"  This might  
have been expressly composed for my argument.  
first, and must be taken first, and is the right and only possible  
key to what the sound "why" should or can mean to the  
child.  
   Furthermore:  how, children come to make the junction  
between their epistemic concerns and the sound "why"  
(with its first different meaning), would make a very interesting  
study.  But if comparable data were to be obtained from  
different children, the parents' or adults' part in that junction  
would have to be much more consistent and uniform than  
it can usually be assumed to be.  We fail to allow for the  
extent to which this highly variable extraneous factor enters  
into data which we treat as if they offered direct access to  
the thought of the child.  What is needed, in fact, from the  
point of view of adequate scientific method, is a collection  
of studies of the development of the epistemic interests of  
different children, with a reasonable shared minimum standard  
of attention to the way in which they are provided with the  
instrument for expressing these interests.  
   This very exacting ideal is no doubt a long way off and  
will have to be made to seem much less pedantic and more  
practically useful before it will be seriously thought worth  
while, But so long as its conditions, remain so very unfulfilled, 
I very much doubt whether the bravest show of statistical  
methods, percentage measurements, and even experimental  
results helps us any further.  It may only succeed in seeming  
much more conclusive than it really is.  So long as the data  
are not homogeneous or even clear, formal scientific treatment  
of them in the mass is liable to be a positive pitfall and a  
snare, and what may be needed in its stead is intensive  
qualitative analysis to establish the meaning of the data.  But  
of course if abundant controlled comparative data are not  
available, the results of such an analysis can only be very  
preliminary.  This limitation has to be fully recognised in the  
present case.  

                 2.  THE OUTCOME SO FAR  
   If we grant then that a great deal of essential amplifying  
information is lacking, I think that it is still reasonable to  
claim that the foregoing analysis establishes at any rate the  
widespread presence of a particular significant factor in the  
thought of children of from four to five years onwards.  The  
data do not permit any scientific measure of its force or extent 
on the average, or in any large class of cases, but there are  
good theoretical reasons for supposing that it has a part of  
some consequence to play in the development of any child, 
at any rate in our civilisation.  
   This factor of epistemic interest and inquiry, as far as it  
goes, is in every respect the same in the child as in the adult.  
To the four and five year examples, I have added a few  
more from children over six, in order to bring out the perfect  
continuity of type of these epistemic questions, but I might  
just as easily have illustrated this by instances taken from  
adults.  The situation is the same and is reacted to in the  
same way.  Intelligent inquiring grown-ups ask the same type  of 
question
every day.  Some of the most important and  
fruitful scientific inquiries set out from just such starting-  
points.  They are the typical beginnings of new and better  
integrative knowledge.  They initiate revision, reorganisation  
and new, previously unthought of lines of extension of  
knowledge.  Why is, or isn't. . . ?  Why should, or  
shouldn't. . . ?  Why does, or doesn't . . . ?  Why  
does this . . . whereas that . . . ?  These are the  
ways by which isolated, anomalous or discrepant facts, 
unexpectedly or confusingly divergent facts, lead us, just as  
they do the child, to the most important corrections and  
fruitful expansions of our thought.  By such questions, the  
child shows himself already capable of subjecting his beliefs  
to revision; by such questions we show our beliefs to be still  
liable to or in need of revision.  They are the outstanding  
manifestations of the identity in function and mode of growth  
of the child's mind and ours.  
  
  
           3.  THE CONFLICT WITH PIAGET'S VIEWS  

     (a) An alternative to Piaget's interpretation of the  
differences between children's and adults' "why's".  There  
are, of course, notable difference -- though also a large region  
of overlap -- in the content of children's and adults' questions.  
Different expectations are challenged, different supposed know-  
ledge is found wanting.  But these differences, if I am right, are  
a function of experience, and of its cumulative effect.  In the  
simplest case, we do not ask some of the child's questions, 
because through having asked them, or else by the right kind of  
offered instruction or experience, we have learnt the answer.  
Other cases are more complicated, but I believe that the char-  
acter, range and limits of previous experience are in general a  
sufficient key.  These factors determine the child's expecta-  
tions and the mere fact that he accepts factual challenges  
to them, and appeals or looks for a way of meeting these, 
seems to me to be evidence of this origin of his expectations  
or assumptions, and to give strong support to the view that  
they do not issue from a fixed internal assimilative structure  
of the child's mind.  
   They represent, rather, an accumulated psychic content, 
which may be more or less strongly established, but is still  
liable to be disestablished by the same kind of force and  
the same kind of process by which it was established.  In  
responding to those challenges, the child demonstrates his  
ability to receive new and discrepant experience.  He thus at  
least answers the possible argument that, whilst his experience  
may suffice to account for his beliefs, yet the structure of his  
mind limits his reception of experience, so that those beliefs  
still reflect what alone he can take in, 
   The full answer to this argument is, however, that there may  well 
be
respects in which the beliefs of children (and of adults)  
are structurally incapable of modification -- respects in which  
we simply do not or cannot receive what would be needed to  
change us but that the field of "why" questions is the  
last field in which to look for such fixed innate beliefs.  It  
is mainly organised about experiences, situations and stimuli  
which demand and initiate modification.  Loosely affiliated  
with it, there are, indeed, important fields which are dominated  
by specific modes of organisation of experience ( "why's" of  
motive, purpose, etc.), but just through this affiliation, even  
these become open at suitable points, and through suitable  
stimuli, to cumulative reorganisation, 
   The general position is that we carry about with us beliefs  
or assumptions of all degrees of fixity, and that our "why"  
questions testify with varying degrees of force, both to their  
strength of lodgment (at the time), and to their liability to a  
greater or less measure of dislodgment, Epistemic "why's"  
testify mainly to the latter, informational "why's" mainly  
to the former; but the second may easily pass into the first.  
Our absolutely fixed and innate assumptions probably do not  
come into the open.  When any do so, they have presumably  
begun to get unmoored (as Piaget himself illuminatingly points  
out).  Those that do come into the open, however, as definite  
established assumptions, may offer greater or less resistance  
to change, in the child as in the adult.  It is right and  
necessary in most cases that they should offer a certain amount  
of resistance, just on the basis of all that past successful  
functioning by which they have become established.  The  
problem is, in fact, precisely to arrive at some sort of division 
or apportionment between past belief and present kind of  
fact, so that the former can be preserved where it is valuable  
and successful, whilst the latter can be done justice to wherever  
its occasion arises.  Sometimes very little may thus be left  
of the original assumption; or it may break up altogether  
as pure stupidity, blindness or prejudice.  Sometimes it may  
be only very slightly modified or simplified; or it may even  
emerge quite intact, the challenging occasion being resolved  
into mere misperception.  But of course stupidity, blindness  
or prejudice, or possibly some absolute innate factor may  
prolong, fortify or cause resistance beyond any power of  
change.  That, however, applies to adults as much as to  
children, and is to such a large extent explicable by the  
history, the acquired functional value, and often the social  
enforcement or reinforcement of particular beliefs, that the  
evidence for absolute innate factors must at the best be dubious  
in the extrem.  Resort to them, foreclosing on the examinable  
causes, is therefore thoroughly liable to be premature and  
gratuitous.1

     (b) Attempt at Re-interpretation of Piaget's Findings.  
The foregoing seems to me to provide the main basis for the  right
understanding, both of the familiar anthropomorphism  
and intentionalism of the child, and of Piaget's further  
demonstration of this:  
   
   In detail:  
   (a)  We must, of course, in the first place eliminate the  
regular and correct use of "why" for inquiries as to motives  
or purposes, where we should ourselves use it in exactly the  
same way as the child, 
   (b)  We must not assume that, the child is using "why"  
in this sense wherever he uses it -- merely because he is an  
anthropomorphising child!  Nor must we infer that because  
he is not using it causally (and in a particular causal sense), 
therefore he must mean it motivationally.  The existence and  
importance of the epistemic sense of "why", and of its  
various derivatives, makes this plain.  There is also a certain  
amount of linguistic confusion and overlap, which makes it  
very uncertain whether some usages of "why" which we are  
in the habit of taking as purposive are meant as such or not.
Often, no doubt, the child's own state is unclear (which, 
however, need not mean that it is "pre-causal" -- causality  
being here frequently irrelevant).  Stock examples such as  
"Why does kitty have fur?"  "Why do cows have  
horns?"  illustrate this.  The former seems to me likely to  
be meant epistemically, the latter may just possibly be.  We  
have, I think, to learn to consider each case on its merits, 
and to be prepared to find alike clear and straightforward  
ones, and all kinds of unclear and mixed ones.  

1 See Note 2 at end.  

   Thus, the teleological meaning -- or any other -- may be  
absent present but subordinate, present but fused with  
other elements in a vague, unanalysable whole, present and  
dominant, or solely present.  Where there is any doubt, we  
have to try to decide which it is as best we can.  "Can't  
she (a baby) talk?  Why can't she talk?"  or "Why can't  
the cat talk?"  seem almost or quite pure epistemic-causal  
questions.  The first case is one of clear exception to rule, 
with a corresponding demand for the cause or factor that  
prevents her from talking.  The second case is more a  
matter of general analogy or rule, Cats are alive like  
us, they are persons, "Kitty", "Pussy", "Tom", 
"Peter", etc.  They see and hear and eat and drink, they  
have a hundred shared and intelligible ways.  And yet they  
cannot talk as we do:  how does this discrepant fact come  
about?  The question, "why does kitty have fur?"  may  
well be homologous with this, a question of puzzling difference  
or divergence, perplexity as to where one is to expect simi-  
larity, where differences -- a demand for some delimiting rule.  
On the other hand, the child may be expecting a purposive  
reply, partly just because he so often gets it, partly because  on so 
many
occasions it is a helpful, an intelligible and  
satisfactory reply.  Or the child's state may be vaguely and  
fluctuatingly intermediate between the two meanings.  On the  
other hand, in "Why do cows have horns?"  there is a  
suggestion of some active use or function about this additional  
equipment of the cow's, and the child seems likely enough  
to mean something like:  what do cows do with horns?  But  
here, too, there might be an epistemic factor present, a sense of 
the queerness of having horns, and puzzlement why they have  
them and we do no -- on the same basis of confusing divergence  
from similarity.  Very often in such cases, the behaviour, 
attitude and tone of the child may show whether he is under  
a sense of anomaly, or merely asking for a familiar type  
of information.  And certainly the teleological meaning of  
"why" must not simply be taken for granted.  
   (c) When all subtractions are made, however, there is no  
doubt that the child will often use "why" in the sense  
implying motive or purpose, where this is pure anthropo-  
morphism.  Even here, however, we must distinguish between  
cases of simple, straightforward assumption that a motive or  
purpose will be forthcoming, and cases where, on the contrary, 
this very assumption is being shaken -- there is behaviour so  
unlike that of known purposive entities that "why" is asked  
in discomfiture, and there is, consequently, some preparation  
for the possible reply, that it is not a case of purposive or  
rational action at all.  In effect, any state of surprise or sense  
of anomaly opens the way to correction or revision.  
   However, even the case of assured assumption of inten-  
tion or purpose seems to me no different from any ordinary  
plausible error -- exactly such as we adults are prone to.  They  
are the most familiar causes or key facts in the experience of  
the child, and the explanation he most often meets, where  
he is taken by surprise or left at a loss.  He goes on looking  
for this cause or expecting this explanation until sufficient  
failure disabuses him.  And he is more easily disabused than  
we are in many of our beliefs!  He does not by any means try  
the category of psychological causes, either as information or  
as explanation, anywhere near universally; he asks straight-  
forward causal questions outside the "why" form, (what  
makes, not merely who makes), epistemic-causal questions in  
the "why" form, and pure epistemic "why" questions  
which have nothing to do with purposes or intentions.  He  
tries psychological causes, or looks to psychological explana-  
tions, only where something, some analogy, however remote  
or slight, prompts him to do so.  And he learns gradually to  
demand closer and closer analogies, as the remoter ones fail  
him.  He is capable of discovering or learning his mistakes  
as we do and we are capable of continuing to make a given  
mistake as he is.  We retain all the errors which we have not  
had an opportunity of discovering, all those assumptions which  
do not happen yet to have come to grief.  From time to time, in fact,
another one collapses, in order to prove that this is  
not idle philosophic scepticism.  And there is very little more  
reason for inferring a compelling structure of mind to account  
for the first anthropomorphism of the child, than for inferring  
such a structure to account for our Newtonian assumptions  
prior to Einstein.  
   (d) A point on which Piaget insists as part of the universal  
intentionalism of the child is his lack of any notion of chance --  
his assumption that there are explanations for everything.  
Here again, we must first of all eliminate the linguistic factor.  
The universal application of the question form "why" may  
at least in part be put down to its becoming a more or less  
automatic verbal habit.  In part, again, it is a natural error  
largely fostered by those round the child, whose answers to  
his questions offer little guidance as to any intelligible limits, 
or for that matter any limits, to the application of the why-  
demand, (So often "anything will do" as a reply to a  
child's "why's".) However, even after the linguistic factor  
is ruled out, we get, no doubt, some tendency in children to  
try for explanations where we should say, "chance" -- or  
not ask any question at all.  But this is still merely the same  
general law, just as applicable to us, by which any successful  
procedure gets extended and extended, and only failure or  
breakdown uncovers its limits for us.  That is just the way  
in which we have gradually come to find that, in these or  
those cases, there is either no answer but "chance" or else  
no significant answer at all -- so that such questions cease to  
be significant ones.  It is experience alone which has shown  
us where we are dealing with unresolvable differences, the  
actual irreducible variety of the world; where with "chance", 
i.e., conjunctions or intersections of more or less unrelated  
courses of events, determined, but without any single or  
constant determining cause; and where with one sort or  
another of discoverable explanations -- causes, controls, consti-  
tutive differences, differential circumstances, possible correction  
of rule, etc., etc.  And over wide areas, we cannot be sure  
in advance even now what we are dealing with, and have  
developed a whole elaborate science of statistical analysis in  
order to try to sort out one kind of base from another.  Further-  
more, apart from chance, the facts for which we expect no  
explanation are often merely cases of resigned puzzlement:  
our attitude remains identical with that of the intelligent child.  
We crave an explanation, we cannot help feeling, at least at  
times, that there must be one, but through long trial and  
failure, we have come to accept a great many facts as being  
beyond our powers of integration.  And as the child has to  
discover, for himself and his individual knowledge, where he  
can get further, where he cannot, so the scientist is still doing  
at the boundaries of our racial knowledge.  The scientists  
way of discovering this is, moreover, just like the child's  
to note anomalies, unexpectednesses, unrelatednesses, every  "why 
should"
or "why" doesn't and to try these questions.  
   (e) There remains to be considered Piaget's direct probing  
of the background of children's "why's" and other ques-  
tions (in La Causalite Physique chez l'Enfant), by systematic  
questioning of them.  I cannot go into his material here in  
detail, although a close examination of it has convinced me  
that it contains many challengeable elements. I have, of  
course, in any case not questioned the fact that children  
do bring pre-causal psychological, intentional and mixed  
and confused expectations or beliefs to a large range of  
situations which to us are matters of obvious physical  
causality.  But I have endeavoured to show, firstly, that  
they also bring very different states and attitudes (including  
very often straightforward causal ones) and secondly, that  
where they do assume psychological explanations, this is a  
natural product of previous experience, very frequently a  
readily modifiable one, and often enough in process of being  
opened up to modification by the very occasion and formation  
of the question.  
   The results, however, of Piaget's method of asking children  
for their own explanations, by putting their own kind of  
questions to them, might appear to show a much more  
systematic, consolidated and firmly entrenched philosophy of  
intentionalism than would be expected on my view.  This, 
I think, calls for some consideration.  If I am right, however, 
the apparent difficulty arises only because it is a complete  
error to equate the situation in which we ask children "why"  
questions, with that in which they ask us.  The seeming  
precaution of putting to them their own kind of question is  
irrelevant, and only serves to hide from us the total difference  
of the two situations functionally.  It allows only for the  
subject-matter, and hides the controlling features of attitude  
and function.  The word "why" actually changes its  
meaning in the change-over of situation.  It passes from  
its epistemic sense (where that had been operative) to the  
informational and naturally the most familiar informa-  
tional one, viz., in the earlier years, that of motive or  
purpose.  The epistemic sense belongs, of course, peculiarly  
to the situations in which the question comes to be asked.  
If my view is correct, it then marks points of possible new  
departure in growth of knowledge, points, often, of marked  
stimulus and activation, points of focal attention, needs  
and tensions for re-adjustment or extension of knowledge.  
But when such questions are put to the child, he is  
not involved, often not interested.  He has experienced no  
shock or stimulus or puzzlement.  In the case of many such  
questions, the particular child asked may, indeed, never yet  
have thought about their subject-matter.  And now, they are  
sprung at him in the mere form of words, when he is worlds  
away from the state which creates such questions in him.  
But an answer is expected of him, questions from adults have  to be
answered, and he has to try to produce something.  
Sometimes, of course, no effort is needed; some children  
are ready verbalisers, and delighted by anything that gives  
them an opening for this accomplishment.  Sometimes an  
effort has to be made, and the questioner may even have to  
register "No reply".  Either way, however, the reaction  
is strictly relative to the very special situation prepared for  
the child.  It must be interpreted in the light of this, and  
must certainly not be treated as transferable to other quite  
different situations.  
   We may distinguish two main types of reaction, according  
to the character of the child and the degree of intelligibility  
of the question to him.  And here, as always, the linguistic  
factor has to be carefully separated and allowed for, before  
conclusions are drawn as to the intrinsic tendencies of the  
child.  We are not dealing directly with the child's reaction  
to the problem contained for us in the question put to him.  
We are dealing, in the first place, with his reaction to certain  
sounds, and to the meaning which these sounds have acquired  
for him.  This may throw light on his psychology, but it may  
only throw light on our verbal habits and our tendency to  
the psychologist's fallacy, or on our own "childish ego-  
centrism " -- the assumption that our words mean for others  
what they mean for us.  How the child really reacts to the  
problem we mean to put to him may need a great deal of  
critical analysis, better attempts to present the problem, etc., 
etc.  If we just take it for granted that the child has got  
our problem, we cannot avoid mistakes.  
   The two main types of reaction do in effect correspond to  
whether the problem does or does not reach the child.  If not, 
we get this fact shown in a reply which is mere verbal associ-  
ation.  The child picks upon this or that familiar word or  
group of words in the question, and replies with any sort of  
thing this happens to evoke in his mind.  That is, no doubt, an  
instance of Piaget's concepts of "syncretism" and "juxta-  
position"; but in the instances here in question, it is induced  
by the artificial situation.  If the child replies to "Why does  
the sun not fall down?"  by "Because it is hot".  "How?  
"Because it is yellow ",1 the answer is obviously not a belief, 
but an association.  The question is anything but intelligible.  
In this and many other cases, Piaget's use of "why" seems  
to me definitely confusing, and hardly capable of conveying  
anything to the child -- or, I should say, to many and  
perhaps not the least clear-thinking adults.  If children ask  
such questions, either they mean something definite which  
they cannot express clearly, or they may be in a state of mere  
puzzled questioning without themselves knowing what they  
want, or else they may be carrying through an intentionalistic  
assumption.  Which this is, has to be determined.  But at any  
rate there is something present in the question which gives  
a meaning, at the least a symptomatic one, to the "why".  But when 
such a
"why" is put to children, it is likely enough  
just to mean nothing the child simply ignores it, fastens upon  
any word in the question that does mean something to him, 
assumes he is asked to say something about that, and says  
 
   1 Judgment and Reasoning in the Child, p. 229. 

something about it.  The type of question and answer  
concerned represents an induced regression to the earliest  
associative levels.  There is no control and no educative effort, 
not only because there is no experienced interest or stimulus 
or context to provoke effort, but because even if it were to  
be volunteered, there is nothing for it to lay hold on.  
   The second type of reaction is far more significant, though  
still not comparable with situations of real educative effort.  
Some effort may be made, but it is likely to be of a limited  
and low order.  The higher orders are typically produced  
where a live concrete problem, epistemic or other, thrusts up  
in the child's path, and all that he is engaged in doing and  
wants to do rallies him into trying to counter-thrust through  
it.  Accordingly, educative efforts occur more often outside  
traditional pedagogic situations than within them, and formal  
questioning is in the main dependent for its stimulative  
value upon the trained habit and prepared resources of  
formal answering.  The child, confronted with unconsidered  
"why's" either naturally assumes them to be meant in the  
most familiar sense of inquiry as to motive or purpose  
(wherever the content of the question will lend itself to this  
sense at all), or naturally falls back upon his most familiar  
system of explanations, whatever this may be.  He then looks  
for the answer in his readiest knowledge of answers to "why"  
questions.  And at the beginning, the staple of experienced  
explanations consists undoubtedly of motives and purposes.  
The fact that the child is asked the question suggests that he  
is expected to know the answer, and so, that it has the sort  
of answer that he knows and has only to remember or  
identify.  He responds to this prompting of the question by  
looking, as it were, into his stock of answers and he tries  
to find some sort of intention, motive or purpose which, on  
this or that analogy, would fill the bill.  Perhaps it will be  
right . . .  or, yes, that must be right. . . but if  
not, then . . .  In any case, trying answers for the  
adult to say "right" or "wrong" to, and very often  
"wrong", is a familiar enough situation for a child.  
   This type of reaction may, however, be expected to be  
progressive.  The stock of explanations develops with ex-  
perience, and that of verbal explanations advances rapidly with  
schooling.  They become differently adapted to different kinds  
of situation, and when "why" questions are asked, their  
content now refers the child to this or that part of his store  
of stock types of explanation.  He has causal ones available  
for some kinds of situation, whilst purposive ones are restricted  to
other kinds.  He is still liable to respond to the assumption  
latent in the question, viz., that he has only to try to think of  
an answer, and that it is there in him, and he still gives the  
nearest kind of answer by analogy available in his mind.  
   But the progression of answers of this kind with the years  
is undoubtedly extremely interesting and revealing, and its  
analysis seems to me an exceptionally valuable contribution  
to genetic psychology.  Only, if I am right, it is an analysis  
of the readiest habitual thought of the child at any period, and  
not in the least of his structural capabilities.  The situation  
in which the answers in question are obtained is a situation  
producing regression to the next level below that of actual  
growth.  The child falls back on the level of reaction that  
at this time carries him through ordinary situations of no  
particular difficulty or consequence, the sort of average  
organisation of knowledge that represents the effect of his  
learning of last year on his crystallised experience up to then.  
This average naturally rises with each new accumulation of  
learning, but it is well below the level reached in and through  
each new piece of learning itself.  And of course it throws no  
light on learning situations as such -- and takes no cognisance  
of their existence.  
   "Why", in questions addressed to the child, interpreted  
informationally and without any special significance for him, 
taps those earlier levels of merely applied organisation, with-  
out any learning stimulus or effort.  The child's own epistemic  
"why's", on the other hand, represent some of his most  
significant learning situations, forced or voluntary, with  
genuine interest and effort.  
  
     (c) Epitome of Results of Re-interpretation of Piaget's  
findings.  It seems to me, in sum, that Piaget's data and  
conclusions merely offer a natural counterpart to the facts and  
interpretations presented here.  They give the other side of the  
picture, the habitual level of functioning of the child's mind  
at any time, based upon a given degree of interaction of old  
and newer experiences in contrast to the side here stressed, 
the challenging impact of new and different experience upon  
this functioning, and the consequent stimulus or pressure to  
work out a new and better adjustment -- a mode of functioning  
which shall in future deal successfully with the new kind of  
experience as much as with the old.  This complementary  
relation between the two sets of data is just what one would  
expect from the difference in the situations from which they  
are drawn the spontaneous "why" questions which his  
own actual experience strikes out of the child, as against  
external ones merely verbally imposed upon him.  The difficulty  
and source of confusion arises only from the fact that the  sound 
"why"
combines the epistemic sense here stressed, 
with a merely informational one which represents the child's  
automatic habitual functioning -- and, to make confusion worse  
confounded, carries several intermediate semi-epistemic, semi-  
informational senses as well.  This confusion I have tried to  
clear up to some extent, mainly by endeavouring to isolate  
and set in sharp relief the crucial epistemic sense and function 
of "why". 
  
  
         SECTION IV. -- CONCLUSIONS AND APPLICATIONS  
  
      (1)  CHILDREN'S "WHY" INTEREST IN THE CONCRETE 
  
   In conclusion, now, it seems as well to safeguard the case  
against the risk of over-emphasis which naturally goes with  
an attempt to make very sure of securing sharp relief.  Such  
an attempt seemed to me to be rendered necessary in the  
present instance by the extreme complexity and confusion  
of the field in question.  However, it need not imply any  
exaggeration of the frequency, efficacy or value of epistemic  
"why's" in the development of the average child.  It is  
admittedly difficult to say what these "why's" amount to, 
and for how much they count, because the necessary com-  
parative data are lacking.  I have merely suggested that  
children do tend, at a quite early age -- often between four and  
five, sometimes earlier -- to develop some degree of concern  
about the truth, sufficiency or clearness of their know-  
ledge, because they frequently stumble into situations which  
force just this concern upon them.  They do not of course  
feel it as such; it merely acts upon them, and a number  
of their "why" question -- those I have called epistemic -- 
show this, and at the same time show how they act this  
concern out.  They are readily stopped by facts that do not  
harmonise with their habitual expectations, are not provided  
for by these, or confuse them; and "why" questions are  
a response to the challenge of such facts.  They are discovered  
as a first and easy means of meeting these challenges, or, 
rather, getting them met, and they are taken up and exploited  
accordingly.  This certainly affects the further development in  
knowledge of the child, but how much is so far only a matter  
for plausible theoretical appraisal.  
   One typical fact to take into account is that just as far as  
they are exploited, "why" questions may come to act as an  
easier and easier substitute for concern.  They may become  
a more and more ready and even automatic response to jars  
or surprises, so quick a way of dealing with them that they  
hardly have time to develop.  "Why" may then readily  
degenerate into a purely verbal habit, presently left behind  
in the process of growth.  
   What in fact happens to this basic epistemic concern is an  open
question, depending upon a great variety of factors.  No  
doubt individual predisposition goes a long way in shaping  
its history, but a thousand outside circumstances also play  
upon it help or hinder it, reinforce or dissipate it, organise or  
vitiate it.  In the long run, indeed, what happens to it is  
governed for individuals by the type of civilisation into which  
they grow up, but, taken in the mass, it governs in turn the  
type of this civilisation itself.  
  
            (2) THE HISTORY OF THE "WHY" INTEREST 
  
   In our civilisation a fairly regular kind of development of  
the "why" interest may be noted, at any rate in its early  
stage -- much as is to be expected if the present analysis is just.  
In typical cases, when the child first begins to see the powers  
and possibilities of the "why" question, he rapidly extends  
his use of it until, in the familiar "stage of why questions", 
he is working it for all it is worth, But this as usual carries  
its own nemesis.  "Why" as we have seen, may partly lose  
its function by becoming a mere automatism -- the child just  
discharges it but is not interested in the answer.  But in part,
also, it proves more and more of a disappointment.  The  
question may be rebuffed or derided, there may be no answer, 
or there may be a quite unsatisfying one.  It may be ununder-  
standing and useless, ununderstood and useless, or wrong and  
misleading.  Even if helpful for the moment, it may somehow  
get into a confusing jumble with other answers, also helpful  
at their moment, but quite different.  The child thus gets  
ample reason for losing much of his enthusiasm for "why"  
questions -- they are by no means the master key which at  
first they seemed to be, for unlocking every difficulty about  
the world.  
   On the other hand, at the same time as this is going on, 
there are also more fruitful processes making for a slackening in  
the "why" impulse.  How far they will carry the child, how-  
ever, depends largely upon his good or bad fortune as regards  
his environment, and most of all his human environment.  
As far as the impulse fulfills its function, and leads to his being  
supplied with more satisfactory and adequate knowledge in  
relation to most of the more obvious sources of puzzlement or  
epistemic challenge around him, it is no longer so often and  
readily needed.  What is more important still, an intelligent  
child in the right kind of setting (including the right grown-  
ups) will be finding his way all the time to new active ways  
of exploring the world about him, and building up cumulative  
true knowledge of it.  These ways will then express themselves  
in their own appropriate questions, and as new successful  
modes of knowledge to which progress is freely open.  And  
they will take the place of a good deal of "why" questioning  
which was needed only where the way was barred.1  
    
            (3)  "WHY" AND THE DEVELOPMENT OF CAUSAL 
                          INTEREST  
   A very positive part in this latter development, perhaps the  
most important, falls, however, upon "why" questions them-  
selves, and depends in turn upon the way in which they are  
dealt with by the grown-ups about the child.  Adequately dealt  
with, these questions should lead the child from his first crude  
modes of associative belief to the increasing discovery of a  
specially valuable type of controlling knowledge, which offers  
the most direct and assured access to security and to practical  
ability of every kind.  This knowledge is, of course, causal  
knowledge, in the full sense not only of mechanical causation, 
but of every form of dependence and inter-dependence of  
things.  
   Behind most of the checks which the child's expectations  
or assumptions receive from the world, there are unknown  
or insufficiently known or misconstrued causal facts; the  
right kind of explanation will disclose these to him.  Endless  
unexpected happenings, failures of expected happenings, 
deviations or differences from the customary, will turn out  
to be explained by unsuspected causes, by intervening or  
preventing causes, unknown determining or conditioning  
causes.  Thus, causes and causal relations should come to be  
looked for as the important controls of what does or does not  
happen and new or better causal knowledge, as the most  
potent means to true and successful expectation, and the key  
to secure and controlling knowledge of the course of things.  
Thus followed up, "causes" branch out into activating events  
on the one hand, controlling structures, compositions, natures, 
relations, etc., on the other hand.  They become extended to  

   1 See Note 3 at end.  

include every kind of relevant or possibly relevant circum-  
stances or conditions or facts of immediate or wider setting  
everything which, if it were different, would make any given  
thing different.  Carried right through, causal inquiry becomes, 
of course, eventually the basis for our most systematic and  
comprehensive investigation into the constitution and controls, 
the general structure, of our world in other words, the warp  
and woof of science.  
   How far any child will travel along this road must naturally  
depend on his own trend of interests as well as on the favouring  
or unfavouring character of his environment.  Some minimum  
distance of causal appreciation and interest has, however, to  
be covered by every human being who is to be reasonably  
capable of assuring his own security, or of purposing, planning  
and effectively acting.  This causal interest has other roots  
besides those of the jar or failure of expectation, e.g., in  
countless instrumental experiences and efforts; but for its  
fullest deployment, the epistemic root is the most significant.  This
comes out in the way in which the word "why" 
develops, out of its epistemic sense, a series of derivative  
senses embodying definite inquiry for different kinds of causal  
information.  (We thus actually come to treat "why" as  
if it meant causal interest, though we rarely appreciate the  
variety and complexity of the interests covered by the word  
"cause" or their relation to the much wider and often quite  
different interests covered by "explanation".)  
   In any case, the original epistemic "why", as far as it is  
reasonably and helpfully dealt with, brings causal knowledge  
and its crucial value into greater and greater prominence.  
The child learns through it, in his greater or lesser measure, 
to look for causal and controlling facts and factors, and to  
take a more and more voluntary interest in them, without  
waiting for breakdowns and obtrusive failures of knowledge.  
It thus points the way to new causal question modes, which  
then become a part of our regular equipment for knowledge, 
and the most powerful and important part.  In this way, the  
fruitful use of the original "why" form leads to some extent  
to its own supersession or obviation.  (In its secondary senses, 
the "why" form continues, of course, to be used to define  
problems for these new activities, but to a large extent, it  
can be dispensed with; and in fact, on account of its supposed  
commitment to purposes and ends, it is commonly, though  
mistakenly, looked at askance in connection with deliberate  
causal inquiry.)  
   Thus, for good and for bad reasons, the epistemic "why"  
form suffers a decline after the first spurt.  Much of the part  
which it played at the beginning is divided up among its  
derivative senses some is superseded by direct informational  
questions, some simply lapses -- according to person and cir-  
cumstance.  But of course the epistemic "why" must retain  
its function as an occasional immediate reaction to surprise  
or discomfiture, unexpectedness, strangeness, etc.  It remains  
indispensable where nothing but obstruction and confusion  
exists for the moment where we are suddenly pulled up.  
where at the moment we do not know what is wrong, where  
our problem is -- always for the moment -- simply:  just what  
is wrong?  To such situations we continue to be liable and  
they continue to be valuable and from time to time revolu-  
tionary opportunities for discovering unsuspected falsities or  
shortcomings of our knowledge, and so, at times, for starting  
it on revisions or new extensions which may prove of vital  
significance.  
  
  
     (4) EXPLANATION AND EDUCATION:  A POSSIBLE MORAL  
  
   Finally, we may come back for a moment to the environ-  
mental factor in what happens to our epistemic concern.  This  
concern, we have seen, can develop continuously from the  stage of
occasional spurts of extension or correction of know-  
ledge under the sporadic stimulus of jars or breakdowns, into  
the most systematic investigation of the causal structure of the  
world.  It has taken the race hundreds of thousands of years  
to discover the possibilities of such investigation; but yet it  
involves no new element in human nature and no new stage of  
internal growth.  The powers, interests and activities demanded  
are rudimentarily present in the earliest human learning from  
experience.  Their most highly elaborated form is merely the  
outcome of a cumulative multiplication of this process by  
itself.  The child's "why's", are sporadic, casual, usually only  
mildly and passingly concerned.  But they have the full germ  
of the matter in them, and the rest is mainly a question of  
where, the seed has happened to fall.  It took an immense  
time before a sufficient number of seeds happened to fail on  
favourable enough ground to get a good start in growth.  In  
point of fact, most human societies have managed to develop  
express arrangements for choking their growth -- often under  
guise of bringing it to its rightful fruition, as in set types of  
universal false explanation.  But it so happens that a favour-  
able juncture arose, the roots were allowed to grow, and we  
now know what the grown, or at least the vigorously growing  
plant, can be.  We also know, or can know if we so desire, 
how its seeds germinate, where they are to be found, and  
what helps and what hinders their growth.  Once the process  
of right growth has been racially accomplished, it has naturally 
become immensely simpler and easier to foster it in the indi-  
vidual.  Nothing need be further from this fostering process  
than any design to specialise children in scientific interest or 
enquiry; that might in a majority of cases prove as impossible  
as it is undesirable.  But some degree of growth in the ability  
to understand and determine the dependences of things, and to  
fulfil the conditions of true, clear and sufficient knowledge, has  
become an essential of membership of a civilised self-governing  
society; and here I believe that a just comprehension of  
the meaning and various kinds of explanation has a far more  
important part to play than has generally been appreciated.  
The adults round a child determine progressively his standard  
of explanation (i.e., of what is attainable or considered valid  
and satisfactory as explanation) and this standard will more  
and more determine when he will be puzzled, how he will then  
try to readjust or extend his assumptions or beliefs or know-  
ledge, what knowledge or insight he will think possible or  
desirable, and when and how he will be satisfied.  
   But these are the factors that will beyond anything else  
decide the general character and level of his intellectual life.  
They will determine the degree of control which actuality is  
allowed to exercise over his notions and beliefs.  Nothing can be  
more fatal to growth in adequate knowledge, or in the capacity  
for objective judgment, than the vitiation of that actuality-  
control by a low social standard of explanation.  If it sanctions 
explanation by pretentious tautologies, by arbitrary selections  
of partial causes, by imaginary and mythological causes if  
it seems to authorise endless irrelevance, the divorce of  
explanation from its occasions and function, its confusion with  
verbal and formal self-justification (and the substitution of  
the latter for enquiries into evidence) and if, moreover, it  
does this all together in one anarchic medley-the result  
will be self-evident.  Such a social standard must continually  
tend to blunt alertness to confuse the functioning of such  
native functional standards as we may possess to discourage  
an interest which it hinders or leads astray from achievement  
and in general, to make us drift towards a state of chaotic  
muddle-mindedness which then in turn can only, in a vicious  
circle, reproduce itself.  By continuous efforts to counteract  
its consequences, impelled and sustained from the one direction  
in which we have achieved successful integrative growth, 
i.e., science, and the scientific attitude and method, we may  
indeed keep them under control and even very slowly and  
laboriously gain a little upon them.  But at the very best, the 
most part of the work of our special socially delegated 
organ of cognitive growth must thus be wasted, so long as we 
are content with a general social and educational standard of 
explanation which lags so far behind that which science itself 
has reached, and which is the basis for all its achievement. 
   The alternative is to equip and guide the natural epistemic 
concern of children from the start, so as to turn it to its most 
fruitful and valuable use.  It depends for a long time upon 
adults for its satisfaction, and they can either give every help 
possible to turn it into an active, enjoyed and freely advancing 
interest for the child, or they can rebuff, confuse, mislead 
and stifle it in endless ways.  They can encourage or dis-
courage the child's exploring activities, his causal interests 
and enquiries, his alertness to challenges to his knowledge, or 
to gaps in it. And it depends upon them whether they will 
strengthen or vitiate, develop or debase, the child's standard 
of control of beliefs by facts.  He has a native standard which 
is active whenever he is arrested by a clash, disparity or 
unclearness between expectation and perceived fact.  His 
"why" questions in these situations are governed by it.  But 
by these questions the development of this standard is to a 
considerable extent placed in the adult's keeping.  And if he 
thinks it worth promoting, he must go beyond merely answer-
ing "why" questions, even in the best possible way.  He 
must aim at forestalling them by providing the child from the 
start with the amplest opportunities for active experience of 
every significant kind, together with well-planned stimuli and 
guidance for its most fertile use for growth.  The child's 
knowledge will then develop all the time in the light of fact, 
and will to the greatest attainable extent be freely controlled 
by it, without having first to be falsified by it. 
             --------------------------------------- 

Note.  By way of a schematic index to the foregoing analysis, I 
append the following summary of the main meanings of 
"why", and the principal modes and kinds of explanation. 
          
   "Why":  
   (1) Affective and expressional -- protest, vexation, help-
       lessness, surprise, recognition, etc. 
          
   (2) Epistemic:  
         A.  Primary:  
                (a) Given contradiction or anomaly demand for 
                    its resolution, for reconciliation or 
                    mediation.

               CHILDREN'S "WHY" QUESTIONS             339 

                (b) Given unexpected, unrelated, strange or
                    odd fact:  demand for subsumption under 
                    familiar, or linkage with it for missing 
                    general rules, determinants, controls or 
                    connections; for missing circumstances or 
                    conditions. 
                (c) Given differences or contrasts, upon a
                    basis of similarity:  demand for a differen-
                    tiating or delimiting rule, cause, control,           
                  circumstance, etc. 
         B.  Derivative (Causal and quasi-informational):  
                (d) Given deviations from use and wont, or 
                    failures, absences, etc.:  demand for inter-
                    vening, preventive or deflecting cause, 
                    circumstances or factor. 
                (e) Given general relation or connection:  
                    demand for specification of determining or 
                    controlling factor. 
                (f) Given any so-ness:  demand for deter-
                    mining or controlling conditions, structure, 
                    basis, laws, etc. 
                (g) Given any happening or event:  demand 
                    for determining history or events, for con-
                    trolling basis, etc. 
                (h) Given causal relation:  demand for sub-
                    sumption under higher or wider or more 
                    familiar and accepted relation. 
                                                                          
  (3) Informational:  
         A.  Teleological:  (a) demand for purposes or objects, 
                           (b) demand for uses, 
                           (c) demand for functions. 
         B.  Motivational:  demands for motives, intentions, 
               etc. 
                                                                          
  (4) Justificatory:  
         A.  Demand for grounds for rules, commands, pro-
               hibitions (i.e., not merely causes or motives, 
               but principles or reasons, presupposing some 
               standard by which what is given as ground 
               will be judged -- moral, social, conventional, 
               practical, etc.) 
         B.  Demand for grounds for statements or beliefs 
              (a) purely formal and deductive -- major premise, 
              (b) material -- evidence or minor premise.  

   Explanation:  Main functional modes. 
     (1) Correction of perception (malperception or confusion). 
     (2) Correction of assumption or belief, with or without 
         account of origin of error. 
     (3) Explanatory new knowledge:  
            A.  For specific facts or features of facts 
                  (a) Intervening cause. 
                  (b) Unknown circumstance. 
                  (c) Unknown class membership. 
                  (d) Determining structure or factor. 
                  (e) Unknown rule. 
                  (f) Subsumption under known rule. 
            B.  For differences between similar facts 
                 Constitutive grounds or causes or delimiting 
                      features. 
     (4) No explanation (usually given as if an explanation) 
                  (a) Irreducible differences 
                  (b) Chance. 
     (5) Modes of pseudo explanation:  
                  (a) Spurious:  by "ideas," abstractions, 
                      verbal paraphrases, faculties, properties, 
                      imaginary entities, etc. 
                  (b) Misleading:  by "the cause", as if this 
                      were a single thing, some arbitrary partial 
                      cause being thus suggested into the status 
                      of "the explanation". 
 
Note I (to p. 304). 
   My reference to "why's" of logical justification is of course only 
a side-glance.  To deal with them adequately would need a treatise 
to itself, on the "Psychology of Formal logic" -- a theme,
incidentally,which has already been trenchantly dealt with by Professor
F.C.S.Schiller, throughout his writings, but which still permits of
someextensions . . . and perhaps one or two minor modifications. 
   All that is essential to the present essay is to distinguish the "why" 
of logical justification, together with other different types, from the 
epistemic "why" with which I am mainly concerned.  In reinforce-
ment of the distinction, however, I try to bring out the instructive 
contrast between "why's" about facts and "why's" about statements, 
even where they seem to overlap; in relation, that is, to situations of 
contradiction, clash or divergence.
   But having gone so far, I should be courting misunderstanding and
rebuttal if I did not go a little further.  To be quite exact, I must note
that where the attitude to a divergent view is completely undisturbed 
and self-assured, one does not bother even to ask for its "why", or 
reasons; one just rejects or refutes it at sight.  If one asks "why", 
here is at least a formal tribute to the possible existence of a reason 
that one ought to know -- a reason that might conceivably make a 
difference.  But that tribute need not he more than formal it may 
only be politeness or habit.  And in fact it may even be merely intended 
as a preliminary to pouncing all the more forcefully on the reason then 
exposed; which of course one knows in advance must be worthless and 
false.  One's attitude may thus be completely "egocentric" in an 
important and fatal sense, even though "why's" of logical justification 
are 95 per cent. of one's "why" score.  And in fact all the more so, 
The innocent, trusting egocentrism of the child, which offers itself 
up to every kind of shock, duly receives it and painfully learns from it 
(and so ought not to be called ego-centrism at all in any fixed structural
sense), becomes most genuinely a structural affair in the entrenched 
and armed, impregnable and unanswerable logic of the adult.  The 
adult, that is, who has fully discovered the possibilities of a formal 
enough logic. 
   However, it is also true that "why" does more usually mark a 
transition to some degree of pregnability.  The reason to which it 
opens one up may in fact turn out to be unknown and impressive. 
Most people who ask "why" about divergent beliefs want at least 
to make sure that this is not so.  And if they did get something which 
they had not discounted in advance, something sufficiently new and 
impressive, some of them at any rate 'night find themselves impressed 
by it (more or less, for a longer or shorter time, according to their 
degree).  Moreover, passing by the intermediate stages, when we come 
to cases of merely new and unexpected statements or beliefs, where no 
factor of definitely contrary pre-judgment is involved, we no longer 
have any opposition to the functioning of "why" as the specially 
open-minded question which it should be.  It then tends, however, 
towards another special informational sense -- it is more concerned with 
material than with formal justification, with evidential new information 
rather than with logical deduction.  The formal element must of course 
be potentially satisfactory, but it is only attended to as a rule if
thereis any ground for being doubtful or suspicious about it.  But again 
there is continuous transition from cases where the key is actual 
unknown information to these other situations, where the question is 
not what the evidence is, but whether it is conclusive or not.  And so 
we are brought at the end to logical justification proper, as an abstract 
impersonal demand, applicable to every proposition, for grounds 
which, in addition to being materially true, shall comply with a 
minimum formal standard of relation to the proposition. 
   So far, in accordance with my general scheme, I have only taken 
into account "why" s of logical justification from the questioner's 
point of view, not from the questioner's.  The distinction is an 
important one for my argument all the way through.  But whilst the 
questions asked by the child, not those addressed to him, are crucial 
in the case of epistemic "why" s the relation is rather the reverse in the
case of "why" s of justification.  Such "why's", specifically 
initiated by the child with a logical purpose, are a highly differentiated
end-product of cognitive development, and not a factor in it.  They are of
course a social product, which can only arise out of a long 
differentiation of social verbal relations.  But "why's" of the same 
type addressed to the child are a special form of active impact on him, 
operating from an early age, and gradually producing their own 
distinctive consequences in him. 
   Among those consequences one is of course that he finally gets the 
special sense of that impact and uses it in the same way on others. 
A more important consequence, however, is a cumulative impulsion 
towards retroflexive, self-searching, logical thought -- the effect which 
Piaget stresses.  The child is in fact stimulated to an activity similarin
many ways to that produced by factual challenges, an activity 
which is turned back from the transitive continuance of its course to 
retracement of the way by which it arrived at the point of retroflexion.  
But once again, there is a crucial difference.  The challenge is not to 
alteration of the course, but in some sense to its repetition; not to 
withdrawal or revision, but only to defence.  Hardly, to begin with, 
even that; in effect, merely repetition and amplification.  If this will 
not do, something else is groped for, and under pressure the situation 
becomes more and more one of sustained attempt at justification or 
defence.  The challenge is itself after all nothing sharp or fixed, there 
is no question of any definite blocking of the course, one only discovers 
the fact of resistance by having to go on pressing against it, and it 
always only seems a question of pressing a little differently or a little 
harder. And so one is easily led on almost unawares into deeper and 
deeper commitment to defence, more and more express justification 
and maintenance of one's course, resistance or no resistance. 
  Thus we get again the same play of personal, non-cognitive forces, 
which makes "why's" of logical challenge, and discussion of conflicting 
views, so equivocal a factor in cognitive development.  Under suitable 
conditions and with the right personal relations, it may be turned into 
an invaluable stimulus and guide to true cognitive development, 
closely integrated with direct experience and its progressive organisa-
tion.  But left to itself it leads as easily in the wrong direction as
inthe right one. 
  Summing up, therefore, I am quite unable to agree with Piaget's 
view -- although I acknowledge the powerful case he has made out for
it -- that it is discussion arising from the clash of views which (from 
certain stage of maturation onward) breaks up ego-centric assumptions 
and stimulates and guides the child to the development of self-critical 
and logical thought.  Such discussion certainly leads to the develop-
ment of formal logic and its processes and affiliated behaviour-modes.  
But that is another matter.  The facts seem to me to be rather as 
follows:  (a) The breaking up of assumptions, which is most fruitful 
for cognitive development and for the formation of an effective 
objective logic, is accomplished by the direct impact of external facts 
on beliefs, and by the consequences of this impact; (b) the early 
assumptions in question do not imply nor need any innate egocentric 
source
or structure, but are themselves formed from anterior experience 
of facts (by revival and habit); (c) the impact of facts on these 
assumptions operates from the beginning, so that we get no chance of 
forming anything like a closed ("egocentric") system of fixed 
assumptions, to wait until the time comes when the right social impacts 
can gain access to it in the place of this we have learning of knowledge, 
logic and method going on all the time, under the exacting, ungainsayable 
pedagogy of experience.  And (d), the social impacts can indeed be a 
very valuable reinforcement of the latter process, if it has -ready been 
well begun, and if at the same time the impacts themselves, or at any 
rata a dominant group of them, are carefully guided but if both or 
either of these conditions are not adequately fulfilled, the socialimpacts
in question may bring about a definite aberration or arrest ofcognitive
development, a fixation in henceforth inaccessible assumptionsor beliefs. 
They may lead to this because (i) there is absent from verbalsocial
clashes or challenges of beliefs the most powerful element in the 
objective teaching process, viz. the compelling controls and sanctions, 
the hard, sharp facts which create and lack the challenge; (ii) there 
are present, on the contrary, all. kinds of extraneous factors tending 
directly to disturb or even counteract any cognitive effect; factors of 
personal challenge and defence, all sorts of affective personal elements 
and stakes; in fact an obscuration of the cognitive situation and 
substitution for it of a dramatic social and inter-personal one; (iii) we 
are still dominated by a logic, or set of standards and methods, which 
has arisen out of just this substituted interpersonal situation, is shaped
primarily to its exigencies, and sanctions them; a logic focussed on the 
forms of inter-personal defence and attack, instead of on learning 
situations:  (A logic of learning has of course been developed during 
the last eighty years or so, but it is itself still being fought over and 
judged-and meanwhile naturally kept stunted -- by the standards of 
the logic of formal defence and attack.  The interesting fact is that 
the difficulties and deadlocks discovered by the latter arc usually set 
down to its superior, over-exacting and absolute standards, when in 
fact they arise because those standards are inferior, not exacting 
enough, and full of gaps and flaws.  Encouraged by the impregnability 
they produce in social situations, we apply them to factual clashes and 
challenges as well, in a small way, and secure a similar appearance of 
impregnability there, but have to be very careful either to limit this to 
matters of no consequence, or to keep it merely verbal and strictly 
divorced from action.) 
  Thus the upshot is that instead of a logic which counteracts the 
special limitations and aberrant temptations of social clashes of beliefs 
we have one which insidiously and powerfully reinforces them.  And 
discussion arising from such clashes is so far from being the main 
agency of logical and cognitive development that it is in fact at present 
a major agency of maldevelopment, itself fortunately counteracted to 
a large extent (though not enough) by the more and more powerful 
cumulative prestige of that quintessence of successful objective learn-
ing:  scientific knowledge and method, 
  It remains to add, since a case against Piaget's views has been stated,
that I am only referring to those presented in the volumes referred to 
in the present work.  I am aware that he has modified his standpoint 
in some respects, but am not sure to what extent this affects the views 
controverted above.  I imagine, however, that his valuation of the 
social factor probably stands, and in any case I cannot of course simply 
assume conveniently that he has changed a view on which in fact he 
may still fully insist and which he may claim that his evidence
entirelyvindicates.  At any rate, I am merely concerned with the view,
itself, 
which is certainly held in some quarters and has enough in its favour 
to merit the closest consideration.  I will only take the opportunity 
here of expressing my immense debt of illumination and stimulation to 
Piaget's work, a debt which it would be a pity to allow the dominant 
controversial tone of the present essay to obscure. 
  On the actual objective question:  what is the part of clashes of 
opinion in cognitive development?  I have offered an answer which 
seems to me amply borne out by individual and social history.  But 
I should add that I have only tried to deal with the direct effect of this
factor on cognitive processes, under our conditions, and have neither 
denied or decried all its indirect stimulation value.  As a mode of 
arousal of attention and interest, as an incentive to new enterprises 
of investigation, as a source of quickening of energy and effort, etc., 
etc. it may well have played a decisive part throughout our intellectual 
history, and may still do so in the lives of most of those who carry this 
history further.  But for the purposes of the present essay, I have not 
tried to evaluate tho historical part played by conflicts of opinion as 
a whole.  And I have not in the least wished to suggest a case for their
educational avoidance, but merely for that of certain avoidable features 
in our handling of them; together with a case against an interpretation 
which carries an implied sanction for just those features, at the expense 
of what seems to me to be needed to take their place. 
   It may be worth mentioning finally that one invalid reason which 
seems to influence some of those who tend to make the most of social, 
and the least of external objective factors in development is a reluctance
due to thorough philosophic training, to lean on that doubtful or 
discredited hypothesis, the external world.  Well, as far as it is a 
hypothesis, we need not lean on it, and my case, such as it is, certaInly 
does not do so.  Wherever I speak of "fact", "external fact", etc, 
this can be replaced, without making the slightest difference to the 
argument, by "the experience which we call the experience of external 
fact", etc.  All the distinctions, contrasts, clashes, controls, and soon,
which I invoke, are experiences within experience, and are invoked as 
such.  What clashes with a particular state of belief or expectation 
(hence called erroneous) is itself an experience, and the clash isanother. 
And so right through.  My objective view, my suggested objective
logic, and all the rest, are thus based just as much on experiences, and 
experiences of the same kind, as any social theory; and not on
ametaphysical hypothesis, doubtful or otherwise.  But I think that when
weget our empirical psychology a little less selectiveand conventional, 
and a little more realistic and complete, there will be nothing meta-
physical or doubtful left about the belief we call belief in the
externalworld.  Meanwhile, however, the question between the view hero
presented and the social view is a purely experiential one, viz., whether 
or not the experiences which I invoke occur as experiences at the time
andin the order and relations which I have suggested, 
 
Note 2 (to p. 324) 

  My argument is that differences in experience suffice to explain even 
the most marked differences between the "why" questions of children 
and of adults. so that there is no reason for inferring any difference of 
structure between them.  To guard the argument against misunder-
standing, however, it seems as well to make its acknowledged 
limitations as well as its exact claims quite clear. 
  (1) Whilst I hold that cognitive development takes place throughout 
by the same sort of learning from the same sort of experience, unchanged 
in essence from the first steps forward of the child to the
last,up-to-date, of the scientist, I fully acknowledge the existence of
aninternal limiting factor which governs the rate of this learning. 
Thereis the fact of the protracted passage from the outlook of the child
of saythree to that of the adult, and no argument would be worth bothering
with,which suggested that this passage could be abolished or merely
seriously 
abridged. 
  But the limiting factor left over on my view is a totally different 
matter from any suggested process of internal qualitative development, 
fully determining and manifested in a succession of qualitatively 
different stages of cognitive behaviour and belief.  On my view, the 
process of overt cognitive development presents rather the aspect of a 
constant force acting in a constant way, but limited in the rate of 
production of its cumulative effect by a kind of inertia or friction  
which is itself a constant character (variable only in degree) of its
material.  
  The case for this view is of course represented by the analysIs in my  
text, which endeavours to show that the hypothesis of sameness of  
experience and sameness of learning can, if rightly applied, account  
for all the facts alleged to demonstrate the contrary; and is indeed  
demanded by them when they are considered closely and concretely 
enough.  The slowness of the learning process introduces a genuine 
limiting factor, but only as a rate factor and not as one of qualitative  
control.  (Our concept of intelligence rather fits in with this view, 
since it puts differences in the comparative rate of cognitive develop-  
ment down to differences in respect of a constant factor, of ability or  
capacity, characteristically problem-solving, and characteristically  
advancing to problems of increasing complexity and difficulty.  We may  
conceive intelligence as the constant force operating on the successive  
matter of experience in a constant, adaptively organising way; with  
the resistance or opposition or mere novelty of new matter in relation  
to existing adaptations corresponding to the action of inertia or  
friction.  The characteristic difference between the child and the  
adult may then be related to the simple fact that our world happens  
to be such that the amount of new matter, in proportion to repetition  
of what is familiar, diminishes progressively, and with it the broad  
proportion of resistance and opposition.  The great bulk of our learning 
can be done and has to be done at the start.)  
  (2) In any assessment of the part played by experience, it is essential
that it should not be thought of as a mere matter of information 
collected and extended, but as a succession of actions on the organism, 
with powerful and important consequences.  If we take the former  
view, it at once becomes plausible to reason that if the difference  
between child and adult were merely one of experience, it ought to be  
possible to turn the child into an adult mentally by giving him the  
right kind of information and instruction; and if that is not possible  
then the difference must go beyond experience.  The deplorable  
experiment in question has of course been tried by people who have  
taken this kind of view of experience, usually under the influence of  
the philosophic tradition of sensations or sense-impressions and the  
"laws of association".  But what is wrong here is the concept
ofexperience.  
  As against this tradition, we may emphasise the much more pregnant  
common usage which makes experience mean a more or less dramatic 
piece of undergoing or a biographic episode.  We may also note the  
very penetrating meaning of the common phrase "learning from  
experience", and again the substantial ordinary sense in which it 
means the matter or span of some accumulated, direct, familiar  
knowledge.
  The full sense of experience has in fact to take in everything that  
comes or happens to us throughout our history, or makes any part of  
the quality of what comes or happens to us; including our arena as  
the progress of experience makes us familiar with it, together with all  
the course of more or less dramatic "experiences" which happen to 
us "in" it.  
  (3) If we see the experience from which we have to learn in this  
comprehensive and at the same time dramatic way, we can, I think, 
find some reasons in the learning process itself (before we fall back
onour unknown limiting x), which make it inevitably a slow one.  
  We have only to be careful to take our experience both widely and  
connectedly enough.  We experience on a very wide front; in many  
different modes, directions, and relations in turn.  Each experience  
has a series of effects spreading eventually over our whole front some  
very markedly, some only negligibly beyond their immediate area.  
Our cognitive behaviour, or learning, is, like every other, the resultant
of a large constellation of proximate and remote influences (even if we  
disregard the relatively inoperative remotest ones).  Our learning or  
advance at any point depends on the remote as well as the proximate  
influences, and we cannot therefore get very far at one point until we  
have advanced concurrently at others, so that a larger and larger part  
of the total operative constellation becomes favourable.  We cannot  
in fact often get the proper sense of some local experience-lesson until  
we can approach it in the light of some much wider one, but we cannot  
reach the light of the wider one except through a succession of local  
ones.  We stumble out of this vicious circle at some easy place after  
a greater or less interval of failure and helplessness.  But when we  
have done so once, we have made the next time easier, and the next  
time again, shaping the constellation more favourable to advance at  each
next point.  And when this has gone on for a time, we may  
suddenly get a sharp acceleration of advance.  The piecemeal move- 
ments consolidate into a wide reorientation, and we may have a more  
or less rapid and complete change-over to a whole new type of belief  
and behaviour, now readily and habitually applied all round.  
  This sort of thing may occur on all levels of generality, but
naturally,the wider the reorientation, the greater and more difficult must
be the  
necessary prior piecemeal advance.  The widest kind of learning  
movements will be separated by long intervals, in the growth of  
knowledge of the individual as in that of the race.  And when we  
examine the previous state in the light of each such movement one  
after another we get that appearance of a succession of stages, with a 

common set of characters running through each and a marked contrast  
between them, which so readily suggests a process of internal qualitative 
transformation.  
  But the transformation is of the same type and produced in the  
same way as any piece of local learning.  It merely needs the con- 
currence of a much larger number of conditions operating over a much  
longer time.  And in fact, if we examine the right kind of individual  
bits of behaviour at any of the above stages, we may see the beginnings  
of some next large learning movement, some new struggling little steps  
onward preparing the way for some new wholesale advance demanded by
theunsatisfied pressure of things.  
  (4) At the back no doubt there remains the limiting factor of  
learning capacity which finally decides at what rate points shall be  
seen, lessons taken in, old ways of behaviour revised and new ones  
learnt, on the smallest and on the largest scale.  According to this  
factor, "obvious" points may be missed, or "difficult" ones seen, 
and, other things equal, it governs the comparative learning rate.  
But other things are in fact very unequal.  The above point of view  
displays a sharp contrast again here to the theory of internal develop-  
ment.  Since the latter treats the successive beliefs and behaviour of  
the child as expressions of the deformation or refraction of the world  
by his specific structural stage, and so obviously as fixed
andinaccessible manifestations of inward facts, a barricade is raised
againstthe very thought of planning and controlling the environment in order to 
help the child on.  (At least until maturation is more or less complete.)
On my point of view, we have a limit set to possible environmental  
help, but we have also great opportunities of help.  We can in fact  
only assign a final value to the limiting factor in any particular case  
when we have provided optimum conditions for it.  The learning  
process depends on the two variables, greater or less capacity for coping
with difficulties, and greater or less difficulty.  This second variable  
defines the problem for education and for educational control of the  
environment.  This problem becomes of course a very difficult one as
soon as we cease to think in terms of verbal information and instruction, 
and begin to think instead in terms of psychological growth, and the  
personal experience and learning from experience of which alone the  
main body of growth can consist, Nor shall we exaggerate the  
difference which education at the best can make, if we acknowledge, over
and above the final internal limiting factor, the difficulty and  
complexity of the process set out above upon which any wide advance  
depends.  But we can reasonably suppose that under rightly-planned 
control there may be differences worth making in the success, ease and  
speed with which the child will learn those lessons in security, ability  
and achievement and their condition of right knowledge, which he has  
to learn and is trying to learn.  And we may look to some prospect of  
such differences if we make a thorough enough analysis of what in the  
rnn of environments known to us helps or hinders, makes or mars, the  
child's own active learning processes; and if we then plan out and try, 
in an experimental spirit, an environment which provides the best 
conditions we can thus discover.  
    
Note 3 (to.p. 334).  

  I hope I have made it sufficiently clear that wherever I refer to  
"epistemic interest", "causal interest", etc.  I mean only interest 
which would be so described if expressly attended to.  But of course it  
will only be thus attended to by philosophers, in themselves, or by 

psychologists, in others (if they do not think it too philosophical).  The
point, however, is that it can be present, as a distinctive mode of  
behaviour with characteristic occasions and direction where its  
description in the above terms would only be blankly stared at. This  
is manifest in the case of very young children and their epistemic  
"why's" but it may easily be lost sight of as soon as it ceases to be  
self-evident, since we still tend to identify behaviour with formulated  
awareness of it, and to treat them as standing or falling together.  On  
this tacit assumption, it might be wondered to what strange community  
of philosophers all the argument about epistemic and causal interests  
was intended to refer.  It might all seem very abstract and remote 
and unreal, without any relation to the little Toms, Dicks and Harrys  
of our everyday world.  
  But the point of my thesis is just that as psychological descriptions, 
these concepts are needed for very concrete and very fundamental  
facts of ordinary behaviour.  The further stage of express attention  
to them and formulated awareness of them is rare; and even where it  
occurs, it often adds very little to them, The actual behaviour, at  
least in some degree, is -- and has to be -- universal.  The degree is a  
matter, partly of native capacity, partly of trend of interest, but still
more of educational and general social environment.  
  Now that degree tends to remain somewhere near the survival  
minimum, wherever the environment is completely uninterested in the  
"cognitive development" of the child, or definitely hostile to it.  A  
certain amount of cognitive development, in my behaviouristic sense, 
goes on willy nilly, as I have endeavoured to show.  But some of the  
natural and habitual associations of the phrase do get in the way when  it is 
applied to such children -- e.g.  those under the economic and other  
pressure of our poorer classes; a very large proportion if not the  
majority of elementary school children -- and there seems to be an air  
almost of mockery about "epistemic" or "causal" interest in their  case. 
Cognitive development remains overlaid in them by all the  
environmental pressures, and usually gets no chance at all of emerging, 
beyond the minimum adaptation needed for survival, as an independent, 
voluntary interest.  Unfortunately, elementary education has in the  
past done little to alter this, and even if it distinguished better thanit
has done between the living body of knowledge and the empty shell, 
and administered the former instead of merely the latter, its power  
would be severely limited by those much more powerful external  
pressures.  
  It has to be acknowledged therefore that the ordinary average child  
under existing conditions drops out of my argument at an early stage.  
But the question of his education does not.  And I remain concerned  
with the cognitive development of real children, in so far as it does or  
can occur, not with that of the generalised dummy which has so largely  
been assumed to be the proper subject matter of psychology, especially  
the psychology of cognition. I merely postulate a state of affairs in  
which the environment does at least mean to be favourable to the  
successful development of those modes of behaviour described here 
as cognitive, and in which it can offer conditions which allow them some  
scope.  This is obviously the case for educated middle class children, 
who indeed illustrate far better than the helpless poor the incidence of  
specific unfavourable as well as of favourable conditions, just because  
in the place of a crushing all round brute pressure, they offer a detailed
interplay of helps and hindrances, and a scale of all proportions between 

them.  Here, then, we are on quite concrete ground, where practical  
application, if desired, follows immediately from theory.  But what  
understanding can be gained in this field becomes available in its turn  
as at least a broad aim of educational policy even for the great body of  
children.  However little education by itself, unsupported by the easing  
of the all round environmental pressures, can do for the ordinary  
average child, it can do more if it does not waste endless effort and  
opportunity on the outward forms of knowledge, but makes straight  
for the essential conditions of its real, functional growth.  
  At this point, however, it may be as well to meet another sort of 
objection, for which the ground seems to have been more and more 
prepared.  It may appear that I am making everything turn upon  
cognitive development, as if this were the be-all and end-all ofeducation,
and almost of life.  But of course I am not trying to state a 
philosophy of education.  I am merely considering the dynamics ofcognitive 
development.  I do not indeed profess neutrality in thismatter, and think
that where valuations are inevitable, declaring them isthe best way of
keeping them distinct from one's facts.  A certain minimumstandard of
cognitive development seems to me an absolutely essential  
aim of education, for reasons partly stated, partly implicit in my text  
and stress on the case for this standard seems to me essential, because  
it is far from being generally acknowledged and aimed at yet.  
  But this is only part-the part which happens to be relevant -- of a 
philosophy of education, not the whole.  For the latter this is not the  
place.  Merely by way of correcting the perspective, I add that in 
common, I suppose, with most of those who have tried to think out 
a comprehensive educational point of view, I conceive the problem  
of the right environment to be one of an optimum combination or 
balance (varying with the situation and person) between a number of  
different, largely competitive and partly conflicting demands.  That  
of cognitive development is only one out of this number.  But for each  
one the first essential is to understand what kind of environment its  
maximum satisfaction could demand.  This knowledge is clearly a  
condition of any intelligent consideration of the problem of combining  
the conditions of satisfaction of the different demands as far and as  
well as possible.  And all that I have assumed here is that the demands  
of cognitive development are among those which have to he taken into  
account, and so as fully as possibly understood, whatever limitations  
might have to be set upon them in the interest of others.  What others  
we acknowledge, and how we judge their relative importance, is then a  
matter of our total educational philosophy.  




                         APPENDIX B  
  
                  EDUCATION AND SCIENCE1  
  
                     BY NATHAN ISSACS. 
  
   The beginnings of education have not hitherto seemed very  
relevant to the interests of scientific men.  They have been  
anxious to make good the place of science in all the important  
later stages of education, not merely for professional training, 
but also as an essential part of any wide, civilised perspective 
appropriate to our time.  They have offered their own con-  
tribution of method, in the heuristic form, as a valuable and  
typical educative experience.  But whilst their professional  
demands have been more or less satisfied, the cultural assimila- 
tion of science makes slow progress.  It is still treated as  
an alternative to the humanities.  It still appears to many  
educated people as a form of specialism irrelevant to general  
education.  
   Perhaps it is the belated and limited introduction of science  
which perpetuates this disjunctive view and prevents the true  
value of science for liberal education from being seen.  If it  
is thus made to appear as a new and separate beginning in  
knowledge, leading away into a special field, it can scarcely  
do otherwise than disconnect this field, and the limited number  
who enter it, from the general body of future educated opinion  
which stays outside and indifferent.  
   If, however, the world of science is only the common world  
greatly enlarged and much more adequately known, and if its  
methods are the methods by which such more adequate know-  
ledge is achieved, then guidance to some understanding of  
this would clearly need to be recognised as a major aim for  
any humane education.  If that aim were defeated by any  
late and separate beginning in science, that would be a serious  
limitation, not of the educative value of science, left unused, but of 
the
prevailing order and method of education which  
kept it so, It would then be necessary to trace the disjunction  
between science and the common world back to its source in  
the current educational process and to seek to remedy it there.  

   1 Reprinted from Nature, July 23rd, 1927.  

The earliest stages would thus become very important and the  
question would arise whether they could not be so ordered  
from the beginning that this false disjunction could never  
arise at all.  
   Specialisation would come at its due late time, as now, for  
those whose interest led them to it, but it would be continuous  
with a liberal general education which aimed at making some  
representative sense of the scope, aims, and methods of  
scientific knowledge a common possession for all, 
   It is this representativeness that would be aimed at, graded  
from the first beginnings of concrete knowledge in the common  
world to its typical highly developed and organised forms.  
The value of science for education would then lie in the  
continuity of its character and history being made available  
for a parallel continuity of development in knowledge of the  
child.  The approved method of starting science learning at  
some rudimentary concrete beginning, at whatever age it is  
begun, which can easily be made to seem highly artificial, 
would receive its natural meaning if it set out from the age  
where the simplest kind of direct knowledge-learning actually  
began.  
   We should thus be proposing not another fixed programme  
or schedule, but a difficult and important problem in liberal  
education.  It would become a matter for careful and scientific  
study what was the best manner and sequence of procedure, 
in order to preserve the continuity of method and perspective  
at which we should aim.  We should have a valuable initial  
advantage over formal subject-knowledge and subject-teaching  
because we should be working with a powerful native educative  
interest in the child, but it would be a part of our problem, 
and a very central one, to preserve this interest and to carry  
it on.  
   The first direct knowledge-learning from which we should  
start would thus be that which emanates from the child itself, 
spontaneously and usually actively.  Most normal children of, 
let us say, four to five years of age, show a lively, inquiring  
curiosity in the world around them, and want to know how  
things work, what they are, how they are made.  Their  
curiosity seeks knowledge and takes pleasure in finding it.  
We should be endeavouring so to guide, reinforce, and develop  
this curiosity of the normal child in the world around him  
that it could pass continuously by its own activity into the  
same interest, informed and organised, in the world-not  different 
but
greater -- of science.  
   We should, of course, not assume that this could be done, 
but should be content with not laying down in advance that  
it could not be done.  A critical examination of all the  
avoidable ways of preventing, restricting, discouraging, mis-  
directing, or confusing the advance of knowledge, familiar to  
us in the history of knowledge of the race, but not all and  
always avoided in that of the individual, would show the  
evidence against us to be at least inconclusive.  It would be  
possible that the interlocking quality of the older system of  
formal knowledge, formal teaching, and enforced receptivity  
gave rise to what evidence there was; and whilst this system  
would have to continue in some partly mitigated form so  
long as we knew no other way, it would be important to try  
any way in which we might conceivably learn better.  To  
endeavour to establish a high road from natural curiosity to  
representative scientific knowledge would at any rate be to  
test one possible way.  
   In the meantime we should have this initial interest in the  
child to work upon, to stimulate and encourage, to refer to  
active, direct inquiry, to provide with graduated experience  
of the relation between such inquiry and discovery, and to  
carry on to a more and more developed sense of the terms on  
which knowledge could be gained, tested, and enlarged in an  
enlarging world.  
   This would then make a formidable problem for highly  
skilled research.  It would, of course, only be a part of the  
problem of progressive education, since for the point of view  
here adopted, scientific knowledge is far from being the only  
kind of knowledge, or knowledge the only aim of education.  
Thus, for example, taking knowledge alone, a historical per-  
spective upon science itself, and this in turn set in some just  
proportion in a larger historical whole, would clearly be  
a like condition and eventual aim for the process of scientific  
education itself.  But there would be reason for suggesting  
that the scientific way would be the first, easiest, and most  
natural way of beginning education and establishing some  
foundation of direct experienced knowledge and its way of  
increase, for later indirect knowledge to be built upon.  
   That would be in full accord of principle with the recent  
trend of enlightened educational theory, which, coming mort  
and more under the influence of psychological knowledge, 
itself advancing, aims at grading the processes of education  
from the start so that they should flow easily and navy  
out of the child's development.  In practical progress it has  
inevitably remained conditioned by the powerful tradition  
which it has sought to change but within which it has had  
to work and its scope has thus been rather to liberalise old  
methods and subjects and gradually to bring them closer to  
the child, than to consider any more radical possibilities of  
theory.  For the further advance of education, however, it  
is necessary that these more radical possibilities should be  
fully worked out, and, according to their promise, practically  
tested.  
   Given now the aim of adaptive grading and psychological  
integration, and given also the inherent limits of a vast deal  
of traditional knowledge which can only be communicated  
verbally and by methods more or less unrelated and arbitrary.  
it is a crucial problem for psychological education whether  
there is no other knowledge, which can be developed first.  
from natural roots and carried on continuously by the same  
methods to a high integration, as a pattern and framework of  
what knowledge can be.  The natural continuity of science  
provides a possible solution alike for a first beginning of  
education in knowledge and for its organic development later.  
   To make this solution actual, however, there is needed  
practical research of a high order, fundamental in character, 
by many investigators, bringing wide resources and high  
qualifications to bear.  But if education is important, research  
in it is important, and its preconditions must be fulfilled.  We  
must assume that education may technically only be at its  
beginnings in order to look for definite ways of verifying this  
and to press for adequate and multiple research.  
   Some interesting commencements have been made in recent  
years, though still somewhat entangled in general programmes  
of practical education.  Thus the Maison des Petits attached  
to the Institut Rousseau at Geneva, and the Walden School  
in New York, may be instanced.  Perhaps more directly  
relevant is the Malting House School at Cambridge which  
specially aims at exploring the educative use of introductory  
science from the outset of education.  During three years, the  
response of children of four to seven years of age under free  
conditions to opportunity and stimulus for the direct discovery  
of many kinds of natural knowledge -- mechanical, physical, 
biological -- has been observed and studied.  As, however, 
this remains an unseparated element in the general plan of  
humane education of the school, and the number of children  
is small, any encouraging results obtained can so far only be  
suggestive.  A recent prominent advertisement of this school  
has set very high standards for a more specific investigation  
in the same field, and the result should prove significant but  
since scientific work is nothing if not cumulative, it must  
eventually be judged less by what it does than by what it
begins.  What is important, therefore, is continuance, and a  
sustained movement of similar work.  The simple, obvious  
principle on which the research attitude is based, that facts  
are only as unalterable as all the conditions on which they  
depend, and beliefs only as valid as all the assumptions on  
which they rest, is as applicable to education as to engineering.  It
should become as much a commonplace in the former as  
in the latter field that no a priori assumptions, but only the  
quality, extent, and coordination of actual research done, can  
determine how much progress is -- or is not -- possible.  
  
                  ----------------------

Note.  
  The above, written in 1927, has been reprinted as a convenient 
brief  
epitome of one of the main aims of the Malting House School.  It may  
be noticed that it takes no cognisance at all of the line of thought  
worked out in the foregoing "why" essay, which is in fact a 
subsequent  
development, in some part under the stimulus (even if somewhat  
contrasuggestive!) of Piaget's work.  If I were restating the case of  
the 1927 note, at any rate for myself, I should feel that it would not 
be
complete, however brief, without express emphasis on the direct  
"epistemic" needs and demands which I have tried to deal with in the  
"Why" essay, as well as on the educable curiosity of the child.  The  
case in question would thus, in my present view, be extended and 
further strengthened.  

                          APPENDIX C  
  
              FURTHER EXAMPLES OF THOUGHT AND  
                          REASONING  
  
   These further examples are all from children whose parents  
have been in touch with the methods of the school, and follow"  
out those parts of the technique which are practicable in  
an ordinary home.  In particular, they meet the children's  
questions and expressions of opinion with frank respect and  
interest, and encourage discussion and inquiry.  
  
              THE LATER HISTORY OF JAMES AND DENIS  
   Denis (4;6) was overheard explaining to James that "a  
thing could be before and behind at the same time".  His  
father asked "How?  What do you mean?"  Denis:  
"Well, first it could be here, and then it could be there".  
His father pressed for further explanation.  They were stand-  
ing near a table, and Denis said, "Well, supposing we were  
doing round and round the table -- now you're in front, and  
I'm behind -- then I'm in front, and you're behind".  It  
was clear from his gestures that, although he could not quite  
formulate his understanding, he was meaning that "before"  
and "behind" were relative to the point one started reckoning  
from, on a circle.  
   Some question of fact arose between James and his father, 
and James said, "I know it is!"  His father replied, "But  
perhaps you might be wrong!"  Denis (4;7) then joined in  
saying, "But if he knows, he can't be wrong!  Thinking's  
sometimes wrong, but knowing's always right!"  
   One night the boys' aunts were bathing them.  James  
offered to teach one of the sisters the song "Clementine", 
but said that he wanted to be paid for the job.  They agreed  upon
twopence.  After she had gone out of the bathroom, 
her sister heard Denis (5;3) say quietly to James:  "James, 
you shouldn't say how much you want now, because you  
can't tell how long you're going to take to teach her".  
When she returned James insisted upon a fresh arrangement;  
twopence every time he had to go over the song.  
   When the boys and their parents were discussing holidays  
about the beginning of this year Denis and James both said  
they wanted to go to France.  Their parents said that they  
couldn't take them because the fares were too dear.  Denis  
(5;3) wanted to know why they were dear.  It was explained  
that it was necessary to go by steamer, that steamers can only  
take a certain number of passengers, and that the company  
has to charge a certain amount in order to pay for it all.  
Denis thought about it, and said:  "Why don't they build  
bigger steamers, so that they could carry more passengers, 
and then they wouldn't need to charge each passenger so  
much".  
   The boys (7;2) and (5;5) were with their father one evening  
in Golders Green Road.  In the middle of the road there  
is a refuge with two red lights.  Denis said to his father:  
"What are those lights for?"  He replied, following his  
usual method, "What are they for?"  James gets very  
annoyed with this way of dealing with questions; he said, 
"When people ask you a question what do they ask you a  
question for?"  His father said:  "Well, what do they  
ask you for?"  James -- "Because they don't know, and  
they want you to tell them!"  
   (7;4) James was watching a terrific thunderstorm after  
a time he said, "Now I understand why some people think  
it's a god that makes it!"  
   The boys' aunt was going to see a grown-up acquaintance  
of theirs James; (7;5) said to her, "Give May and John  
my love".  Miss P. said to Denis (5;8), "And shall I give  
them your love too, Denis?"  "No", said Denis.  Miss P.  
was shocked and kept trying to persuade him to "send his  
love".  She said, "Don't you like them?"  "Yes, but  
not enough for that."  "But liking and love are the same."  
"No", said Denis, "you see, liking is only a faint form  
of love."  
   James (7;7) and Denis (5;10) had been noisy on the stairs  
and the lady in the flat above had come down and joined  
their own Fraulein in scolding them, The children were very  
indignant and felt it to be an intrusion.  James said, "She s  
no right to come down the stairs and talk to us".  Denis, 
"Oh, well, she has a right to come down the stairs, because  
she can't get out of the house unless she does:  but not to  
scold us".  James, again indignantly, "But two of them  
shouldn't -- it's not fair!"  Denis, "Well, of course, there  are two of 
us,
aren't there?"  
   (6;2) Denis was complaining that he could not spell, in his  
now usual self-deprecatory manner.  His father said, "Of  
course you can spell".  "No, I can't."  "Well, now try.  
Spell:  cat, mat, do, go, " etc., etc., which of course he did.  
His father, "There you see, you can spell".  Denis, "Oh, 
I can spell those all right, but that's because you are giving  
me words that are spelt as they're pronounced".  
   A discussion about being "early" or "late" for school  
arose at the breakfast table.  James, to his mother, was  
grumbling about "the fuss people make about getting up  
early, and things".  Denis (6;1). with his characteristically  
slow speech but penetrating thought, said, "Early and late  
aren't things.  They're not things like tables and chairs and  
cup -- things you can model!"  
   30.1.30.  This morning, going up the hill to school with  
the boys, their father made the remark (arising out of some  
joke) that he could run faster than either of them:  Denis  
(6;1).  "You can't run faster than James".  Father.  "Of  
course I can -- I'm twice as big as James -- and look at the  
length of my legs".  Denis (exploding with laughter), "Yes, 
but you re so much heavier". 
   February 1st, 1930.  This evening in the bath James and  
Denis were talking about opening their shop; they had got  
"special permission to keep the shop open as long as they  
liked", and they were "going to employ some of the  
unemployed" (James' idea).  His father said, "Why the  
unemployed?"  James, "Because it would be kind".  His  
father, "Is it better to give them work than money?"  
Denis (6;1).  "If you give them money it will run out.  Work  
gives them wages; and the work will probably last longer;  
wages is money".  
   June.  1930.  Denis, "I wish I wasn't Denis!"  His  
mother, "I'd be very sorry if there wasn't, any Denis!  
Besides. Denis is a very clever boy!"  Denis, "No, he  
isn't.  There are lots of things I can't do -- and I do very  
badly".  Mother, "There are lots of things you can do.  
What you told me just now was clever" (an answer to a  
question on another point).  Denis, "Not particularly.  I'm  
sure if you asked sixty boys as old as me that question. at  
least fifty of them would have given you the same answer".  

                       ROSE.  

   (3;5)  Seeing the sun in a mist, Rose said, "Look, Mummie.  
there's a sun wrapped up".  
   (3;6) Rose saw some lambs with their mothers and asked  
her mother, "What do they want their mother for?"  
Mother. "What do you want your mother for?"  Rose, 
"When I'm hurt".  
   (3;7) When Rose was watching some trains shunting she  said, 
"Why don't
they have tyres?  Wouldn't they run  
nicer with tyres?  Do they run on those irons?"  
   (3;8) Rose, "Why don't we milk pigs?"  Mother, 
"Because they have little ones of their own to feed".  Rose, 
"So do cows have calves.  Have I got any milk in me?"  
Mother, "No".  Rose, "Yes, I have -- I had some for tea".  
   (3;8) Rose said, "I'd like to see dogs' teef and cats' teef  
and cows' teef and horses' teef and fwogs' teef and camels'  
teef and mices' teef".  Mother, "Why?"  Rose, "To  
see if they're like ours".  
   (3;8) Rose's father told her she couldn't get on the sofa  
with her mother:  Rose, "Don't tell lies about it -- there's  
absolutely room!"  
   (3;10) Rose had bitten her little brother and her father had  
smacked her:  Rose, to her mother, "He smacked me all  
over".  Mother, "Well, it's an awful pity to bite".  Rose, 
"It's an awful pity to smack".  
   (3;11) Rose, "Where do flies sleep at night?"  Mother, 
"On the window-ledges, and on the walls, and ceilings, and  
other places".  Rose (concerned) "'Tisn't safe, is it?"  
   (3;11) Mother, "You know, you're talking the most awful  
rubbish".  Rose, "Well, I'm thinking it".  
   (3;11) Rose could not understand what Mrs. T. (her  
Granny) said, and Mrs. T. told her it was because of her teeth.  
(She had had them out.) Later, Mrs. T. had been correcting  
Rose for saying, "I done".  Rose said it again:  Mrs. T., 
emphatically.  "Did".  Rose, impishly, "You've got strong  
teeth, Goo!"  
   (4;0) Grannie, "People don't eat red blackberries".  
Rose, "Marsh's do, and I'm a Marsh".  
  
                       URSULA.  

   (Aged 3:3) Ursula felt her mother's leg:  "Can it break, 
Mummie?"  Mother, "Yes".  Ursula, "Can you break  
it?"  
   (3;3) Her father called her "his daughter":  Ursula.  "I  
am Daddy's daughter".  Laughing, "Not Beatie s (the maid)  
daughter.  I'm Beatie's sister".  
   (3;3) Ursula was writing with chalk on the wall round  
her cot one morning; as her mother came into her room  
she said, "Look what I'm doing, Mummie.  I'm writing on  
my wall.  I don't mind, Mummie, I don't mind!"  
   (3;4) Ursula tasted some new sweet and complained that  
she did not lice it.  Her  at her said half jokingly.  "If you  
don't like it. you need not have it".  She answered with fun, 
"If I don't like it I need not have it.  If you don't like it  
you need not have it".  
  (3;4) Ursula looked out of the window and saw the tree  
swaying violently in a strong wind.  She was excited and  
very amused:  "Oh. look, Mummie, that one pushes that  
one.  That bush pushes that bush and that bush pushes that  
bush.  How funny!"  "What does the wind do?"  She  
swayed and nodded her head forwards.  "It . . . They  
go. . . Ha ha ha!  They pushing".  More reflectively, 
"It looks like it". 
   (3;4) Ursula, "I have a pain in my tummy".  Mother, 
"You lie down and go to sleep and your pain will go away".  
Ursula, "Where will it go?"  
   (3;4) Ursula was with her mother in the garden on a  
sunny morning:  Ursula, "Oh, Mummie, I wish we could go  
right up to the sky, don't you?"  Mother, "How could  
we?"  Ursula, "How do you think?  I don't know.  I  
tell you what.  We would need a big ladder.  The ladder we  
have to go in the loft would do".  Mother, "Would it be  
big enough to reach the sky if it is high enough for the loft?"  
Ursula, "We could put it on there" (pointing to an upper  
window on the roof) "and I could go up and come down again  
and get through the window into the room".  Mother, "And  
what would you do there?"  Ursula, "Just look at it and  
touch it and climb down again".  
   A little later:  Ursula, "I wonder if we shall blow up to  
the sky.  The wind will blow us and take us" . . . .  
"Perhaps the wind took my yellow eiderdown".  (A doll's  
that was lost in the garden.)  
   (3;4) During some explanation by Ursula's father of pic-  
tures in one of her books where there was a picture of the  
royal train with the words underneath.  "I wish I were the  
king":  Ursula, "I wish I could he the king, Daddy, and  
you the queen.  No!  You the king and I the queen".  
   (3;4) Ursula and her mother found a dead moth in the  
garden and discovered that it could not move:  Ursula, "Like  
the crab at St. Leonards and there was a boy took the pail  
and got water and put it in to see if it would move and it  
didn't move.  Why didn't it move, Mummie?"  
   (3;4) Ursula was looking at an apple tree in the garden  
which had a few small apples appearing:  Ursula, "How  
did the apples get there?"  
   (3;5) Ursula and her mother came home from a park:  
Father.  "Well, where were you?"  (Meaning "Tell me all  
about it".) Ursula  "But Daddy knew where we were!"  
   (3;5) (In Zurich)  Ursula, "All people talk German here, 
even the men".  
   The next day. . . . "Why do all the people in this  
place talk German?"  
   Two days later. . . . "I wish I could speak German  
like all the others.  I can speak my own language".  
   (3;5) Ursula was looking at a spider.  She said, "It's a  
little bit like a crab.  He's on his back!"  Mother, "How  do you know?"
(He wasn't.) Ursula.  "I looked at him  
and found it out!"  
   (3;5) Ursula went to a meeting in the theatre with her  
mother and asked afterwards, "Why were the seats there  
joined together?" -- and, "Why did they go up?"  
   (3;5) A good deal of building was being done near Ursula's  
home.  She saw a crane and asked, "What is it for?  How  
does it go?"  She watched them whenever she had an  
opportunity.  
   When her mother was ironing Ursula remarked on the  
smoke.  Her mother told her it was called steam.  Ursula  
asked how it came and they made some with water and the  
hot iron.  She watched the water disappear, and the steam  
come.  One or two days later she said, "Trains make smoke  
and ships make smoke and irons make steam".  
   (3;5) Ursula asked, apropos of the view of snow-covered  
Alps, "How does the snow come?"  
   (3;5) Ursula is continually offering often absurd suggestions  
about various things:  "That might be for so-and-so, mightn't  
it?"  And when her mother says, "Yes, but -- " she  
always persists, "But it might, mightn't it?"  
   (3;5) Ursula was walking past shops with her father and  
mother, and she wanted them to buy her something.  Her  
mother said she hadn't enough money:  Ursula, "Ask Daddy  
for some".  Mother, "Daddy can't spare it, He needs it  
to buy us food".  Ursula (with angry contempt), "He  
doesn't, you do!"  
   (3;6) Seeing telegraph wires on one of the hills Ursula  
said, "That's the way the train goes up the mountain".  
Her parents told her they were taking a train up a certain  
mountain:  Ursula, "That'll be like being on the top of a  
house, on the roof".  
   (3;6) Coming down the mountain, as the train went through  
a small tunnel, from where they sat Ursula and her parents  
got a very good view of the perspective of the round exit of  
the tube through which they were to go.  Ursula said, "Oh, 
look.  It looks very weeny.  Why does it?"  
   (3;6) On the Rigi Kulm, looking at the Bernese Oberland  
panorama.  Ursula's father pointed to the Jungfrau and said.  
"There's a house up there".  Ursula, "How could anyone  
live up there, so weeny".  (She couldn't see a house, the  
mountain was fifty miles away.)  
   (3;6) On the Rigi Kulm.  Ursula said, "We're like on a  
ship".  Looking down on the clouds:  "The clouds look  
like ice".  Looking at a sheep:  "Oh. look, the sheep's  
doing a-a!  It does it like people!"  
   (3;6) In the train from Locarno to Basel one engine of the  
train caught fire and Ursula's father had to tell her all about  
it and give her an explanation.  He did not attempt to explain  
a short circuit (which it probably was), but said the wheels  
had to be oiled and perhaps one wheel had not been sufficiently oiled 
and
as it went faster and faster it got hotter and hotter  
until it caught fire.  He rubbed her hand to let her feel how  
warm friction made it.  He had to tell this story quite a  
dozen times and Ursula always said, "I do love the story  
about the burning engine!  Tell me it again!"  But she  
again and again repeated the question.  "But who made the  
fire?"  
   (3;7) After her mother had recited a poem called "Come  
little leaves," which Ursula liked, explanation was demanded  
and given in the form of a story about wind, changing colour  
of leaves, and their falling, and her mother suggested that  
Ursula had seen them falling:  Ursula, "I see them on the  
ground, but I don't see them falling".  The poem goes thus:  
the wind to the leaves, "Come to the meadows with me and  
play".  Ursula asked, "How could the leaves get to the  
meadow?"  
   (3;7) Ursula asked, "Why do flies come in rooms?"  
   (3;7) Some suggestions of Ursula's:  "We must pack our  
luggage to go to the new house.  We could put all our  
luggage in a charabanc and then we could go there by `bus  
if we liked".  
   Ursula.  "We must tell Jane where the new house is so that  
she will know how to get there".  
   (3;7) Ursula (to her father), "When shall we go?"  
Father, "In two minutes".  Ursula, "When is two  
minutes?"  
   (3;7) Ursula said, apropos of a remark about aeroplanes  
flying.  "Aeroplanes don't fly, they wheel".  
   (3;7) Ursula's father told her a story about a bird and said, 
"And the bird said, `Good morning, Ursula!'"  "Was  
it a parrot?"  said Ursula, incredulous that any other bird  
could talk even in a story.  
   (3;7) Ursula said, "We'll call this summer-winter time".  
Mother.  "Why?"  Ursula, "Because it's sunny and  
cold".  
   (3;7) A spider walked across Ursula's chair.  She didn't  
like it and her mother removed it.  Ursula asked, "Why did  
it come?"  At the end of an explanation, a half-joking  
rigmarole, her mother said, "And then he walked across  
your chair and you caught him".  Ursula, "I caught sight  
of him and you caught him".  
   (3;7) Ursula placed the tips of her fingers together making  
an inverted V, and said, "This is a house.  Houses are made.  
House are not made like this".  
   (3;7) Ursula was up late and it was dark.  In the bath-  
room before bed she said, "Are the trams and `buses out?"  
Mother, "Yes". Ursula, "And the trains?"  "What  
makes the engines go and stop?"  
   (3;7) Ursula asked, "Why do trains have wheels?"  
   (3;7) Ursula and her mother were in a `bus and it was  
dark.  They passed some houses behind a high fence:  Ursula, "What's
there?"  Mother, "Houses". Ursula, "Why  
can't we see them?"  
   (3;7) Ursula, "What are `buses made of?"  Mother, 
"Which part?"  Ursula, "The floor?"  Mother, "Wood".  
Ursula, "The outside?"  Mother, "Wood".  Ursula, 
"The stairs?"  
   (3;8) Ursula's father mentioned the Prime Minister:  
Ursula, "Is he in Synagogue?"  Father, "No!  he's another  
kind of minister".  Ursula, "What does he do?"  (Explana-  
tion.)  Ursula, "What does the other minister do?"  Father, 
"He sings and makes speeches".  Ursula, "What does he  
do when he's at home?"  
   (3;9) Ursula said, "Grannie, when my little sister comes  
you will have two grand-daughters".  (A new baby was  
expected, and Ursula had been told.  She often spoke of "my  
little `brother-or-sister'".)  
   (3;9) Ursula was arguing about the putting on of her  
leggings when going out:  "But I decided not to, Mummie".  
   (3;10) Ursula, "Mary (the new German maid) isn't  
German.  She speaks English".  Mother, "Not very much.  
She speaks more German than English".  Ursula, "She's  
a lot German and a little English and I'm a lot English and a  
little German because I speak a lot of English and a little  
German".  
   (3;10) Ursula, "Mummie look, I nearly reach my swing.  
Shall I when I'm six?"  Mother, "I think so".  Ursula.  
"And my little brother-or-sister will?"  Mother, "Not  
when you're six".  Ursula, "When will it?"  Mother, 
"When you're about ten".  Ursula, "Then when it's ten, 
its brother-or-sister will and when it's ten its brother-or-sister  
will".  Mother, "I don't know if I shall make so many".  
Ursula, "After this one, you can make another one and  
after that one you can make another one and after that one  
you can make another one.  That'll be like the old woman  
who lived in the shoe".  
   (3;10) Ursula, "I want to go to Palestine.  Will you take  
me, Daddy, in the summer?  How long does it take?  Days  
or weeks?  Days are short but weeks are long".  
   (3;10) Ursula's father heard her talking about "a moving  
street".  Father, "Do you mean a moving staircase?"  
Ursula, "No, Daddy, a moving street.  My dollies told me.  
There's an ordinary street and a moving street and on the  
ordinary street the horses stand and on the moving street the 
people stand.  And the moving street gets higher and higher  
and then they get on the horses".  
   (3;10) Ursula, "Little girls' parties have grown-ups and  
grown-ups' parties don't have little girls".  
   (3;11) In a confectioner's shop with Mary, who was buying  
Ursula everything she demanded in spite of her mother's  
remonstrances:  Mother, "Well, Ursula, I think Mary's got  
more money than I have".  Ursula, "Oh, Mummie, when  
you say such things, I don't believe you!"  Mother, "Why  
not?"  Ursula, "Such rubbish".  
   (3;11) In a shop, Ursula clambered on to a high chair:  
Mother, "You're the king of the castle!"  Ursula, "I'm  
not".  Mother, "What are you then?"  Ursula, "I am  
what I am".  
   (3;11) Ursula's father was playing with her and drawing  
a cot.  He drew the pillows green:  Ursula, "But pillows are  
white, Daddy".  Father, "But I haven t a white pencil".  
Ursula, "You couldn't see white on white!  You should draw  
white on black paper.  And you couldn't see black on black".  
   (3;11) Ursula's father was taking her to school in the `bus:  
Ursula, "Oh. look!  There's a little girl going to school".  
Father, "Yes.  That lady's taking her".  Ursula, "That's  
not a lady, Daddy, that's a maid".  (Soliloquising).  "Maids  
are ladies, but ladies are not maids.  Ladies are not maids  
but maids are ladies", etc., etc.  
   (4;0) A dream:  Ursula, "There was Vera, but another  
Vera and Ursula but another Ursula, and they were going  
to dancing and -- suddenly! -- they met Ursula's Nannie and  
they went to the weeny park".  (A small public park.) "I  
wouldn't do that, would I?  Weren't they silly? -- to go to  
the weeny park when they were going to dancing.  I would  
go to dancing!"  
   (4;0) In the lavatory Ursula read the letters "PULL", 
which she mis-read "Bull".  "Oh, yes", her mother said -- 
"Pull".  Ursula noticed the difference and re-spelt it  
"PULL" and then said, "Why are there two `l's'. We  
not need two, do we?  One would do, wouldn't it?". . .
"Why has it got `pull'?  We know what to do, don't we?  
We not need that, do we?"  
   (4;0) Ursula, "My little brother-or-sister will have my  
toys to play with and their brother-or-sister will have their  
toys to play with but their brother-or-sister cant have a  
brother-or-sister because we shan't have enough beds.  Then  
what will I do with my toys?  I shall not need them, shall  
I?  And my brother-or-sister won't need them Grown-ups  
don't play with toys, do they?"  
   (4;0) Ursula, to her mother, "Mary's Mummie said such  
a silly thing when I was at school.  And Miss Thomas!  One  
day. when you didn't come early to fetch me, and I didn't want  
to put on my things, she said, `Isn't your Mummie late?'  
And she said, `If you put on your things, she'll come quicker'.  
That couldn't make any difference if you were in the `bus, 
could it?  And Miss Thomas said the same!  Wasn't that  
silly?  That couldn't make any difference, could it?  Wasn't  
she silly?  They were both silly. weren't they?"  She spoke  
to her mother of this again later in the day.  "It could only  
make us quicker going home, couldn't it?  but it couldn't  
make you quicker coming, could it?"  
   (4;0) Ursula had had a bad cold in her head and disliked  sometimes 
the
continual bother of using (or having used for  
her) her handkerchief:  Mother (teasingly).  "Oh, Ursula.  
wouldn't it be a good thing if we could fix a little pail under  
your nose?"  Ursula (brightly and promptly), "Like the  
rabbits!"  (She and her mother had been seeing dead rabbits  
in the fishmonger's thus equipped and Ursula wanted to know  
why.  The gruesome answer was not easy to explain.)  
   (4;0) Ursula, "Oh, Mummie, I'll tell you such a funny  
thing!  Water is the same colour as the glass".  
   (4;0) Ursula's mother told her didactically some physio-  
logical consequence of a certain action, when quickly came  
her question, "How do you know that?"  Mother, "Some  
people have told me, people who, I think, know".  Ursula, 
"Yes, but how do you know,"  etc.  
   (4;0) In the course of some prattle, Ursula said, "I didn't  
ask Mary for a corkscrew `cos I don't s'pose they have them  
in Germany.  She wouldn't know the word, would she?  I  
just said, `Will you open the bottle?'"  
   (4;0) In the course of a long story about many children  
and brothers and sisters and a house and rooms and more  
brothers and sisters.  Ursula said, "And then they couldn't  
afford any more children".  Mother, "Why not?"  Ursula, 
"They couldn't afford any more".  Mother, "Does it cost  
money to have children?"  Ursula, "They would have to  
have a larger house".  
   (4;0) Ursula, "Will you get my gramophone down, 
Daddy?"  Father, "All right".  Ursula, "Will you get  
it now?"  Father, "If you take off your leggings then I'll  
get the gramophone".  Ursula, remonstrating, half amused  
and half annoyed, "But that has nothing to do with my  
gramophone, has it?"  
   (4;0) Ursula, "Do you know why I can't sleep at night.  
Mummie?  Shall I tell you?  It's because I think of things".  
Mother, "What things?  Will you tell me?"  Ursula, 
"Oh, well, once I thought about pigs".  Giggling, "about  
pigs!"  "Then I think about boys and girls and parties and  
once about school.  If I didn't think about things, I would  
go to sleep".  
   (4;0) Ursula, "Do you remember that crab we found that  
lost a leg?  Where did it lose it?"  Mother, "In the sand  
perhaps, or in the sea".  Ursula, "How did it lose it?"  
Mother, "I don't know what happened to it".  Ursula, 
"Perhaps it got its foot under a stone and wanted to swim  
into the water and swam away and its foot was under the  
stone and broke off".  
   (4;0) Ursula, "Mummie, look, I can't get my feet off my  
shadow".  (making frantic efforts to do so).  
   (4;0) Ursula's mother was not feeling very well and had  
some letters to write, and was anxious to be left in peace.  
She said to Ursula, "I have to write and you must find  
something to play at that you can do all alone".  A remon-  strance 
from
Ursula, followed by one from her mother --   
Ursula looked tearful.  Her mother said, "I'm not angry,
darling, only I must be left quiet sometimes to do my work.  
You understand that, don't you?"  Ursula, "Yes, `cos  
I'm a big girl.  But what do mummies do if they have a  
little baby and they want to work and the little baby cries  
`cos it wants them?"  Her mother explained that one did  
all the necessary things to make the baby comfortable and  
to find out why it cried, and then left it.  Ursula, "Did you  
do that to me?"  
   (4;1) Ursula, "I scratched my nose again, Mummie".  
Mother. jokingly, "Oh, did you?  That was a silly thing  
to do.  Is that what you think noses are for?"  Ursula,
also laughingly. "Oh, no".  Then seriously, "What are  
nails for?"  

                        INDEX OF NAMES  
  
Andrus, R., 15                    Lawerence, E., 59  
                                  Levy-Bruhl, 76  
Ballard, P.B., 59, 63-64, 71-72, 
    97                            Mach, 104  
Bartlett, F.C., 3-4               Montessori, 18, 21  
Burt, C., 57, 59, 60, 61, 67, 68, 
    69, 72, 92                    Philpott, S.J.F., 165  
Butler, Samuel, 163               Piaget, J., 4, 32, 43-44, 58, 73-79, 
                                      81, 82, 83, 86-88, 90, 93, 94-  
Clays, W., 167-168                    97, 292, 293, 293, 310, 316, 
                                      317-318, 322, 323, 324, 326, 
Dewey, J., 21                         327, 328, 329, 331  
  
Ebbinghaus, 3, 4                  Rignano, 104  
  
Ferenczi, 32                      Scupin, 310  
Findlay, J.J., 168                Searl, M. N., 101  
Freud, 2, 79                      Spearman, 57, 59, 61, 64-65, 66,
                                      69-70, 92, 104
Gesell, A., 5, 10, 59, 63         Stern, 10-11, 295, 297
Groos, 297                        Stout, G.F., ix  
                                  Sully, 162, 308, 310-312, 314  
  
Hazlitt, V., 70-71, 72, 97, 99    Thomson, G.H., 159  
                                  Trotter, W., 85  
Issacs, N., 108                  "Two Parents", 4, 308  
  
Klein, M., 101-102                White, J., 16, 236, 240, 273, 277, 
Kohler, W., 66                       279  


                          INDEX OF SUBJECTS  
  
Aims, educational, 17-23          Death, facts of, 160, 164, 165, 
Animism, child's, 76-77                 242, 243  
Anthropologist, observer of       Discovery, 51, 55, 125-145, 226-  
   children, as, 9                      227, 232, 247, 254  
Anthropomorphism, child's, 324    Discussion, 38-41, 51, 85, 227, 
Anxiety, 102, 103, 104                  241, 242, 250, 251, 253  
Artificialism, child's, 77        Dramatic play, 218, 219, 220, 
Asen, 16, 280                           221, 222, 223, 225, 226, 227, 
"As if", 76, 104, 109                   228, 229, 230, 231, 234, 236, 
                                        237,238,239,240,242,246, 
"Because's", 51, 55, 75, 84, 90,        252, 253, 254, 255, 261-263 
      145-151                     Dramatisation of knowledge, 50, 
Binet-Simon Tests, 72, 77               54, 117-120  
Biological interests, 1, 53-56,   Drawing and painting, 216, 221  
      158 et seq.                       224, 229, 231, 243, 249, 272-  
Bird-watching, 162, 166                 273  
Bodily skills, 20, 98, 258-260  
Burt's Reasoning Scale, 60, 72,   Eduction, of relations, 65  
       92                            of correlates, 65  
                                  Ego-centrism, 73, 74, 75, 88-91  
Carpentry, 232, 238, 248                94, 107, 295  
Causality, 4, 32, 80, 83,295,297  Environment, influence of, 82-83  
   child's interest in, 334          simplification of, 3, 4
   mechanical, 294                Epistemic interests, 306, 308 et  
Children, ages of, 14                seq., 316 at seq., 320-321  
Children, mental ratios of, 14    Equipment, 15  
Children's questions, 4, 36, 40,  Eurhythmics, 256, 261  
      81, 82, 291 et seq.         Excursions, 289-290  
Chimpanzees, Kohler's, 66         "Exercises of practical life", 21  
"Clinical  method", Piaget's,     Expectation, 297, 299-300, 322  
      93-95, 328                  Experience, 8, 57, 109  
Cognitive acts, as process, 49,     anomalies of, 295, 297, 306  
      84, 97                            308 et seq,, 319  
  behaviour, classification of,   Experimental psychologist, 3  
      49-53                         studies, 3, 4, 63  
Comparisons and analogies, 50,    Experiments, children's, 35, 51, 
      55, 120                           125-145, 224, 226  
Conditions of observation, 4,     Explanation, 40, 294, 296, 340  
      7 et seq., 82-83               by adults, 310 at seq.  
Confluence, 70                       and education, 336  
Conjunctions of discordance, 75,    motivational, 325-327, 330  
      84                             standard of, 337
Corrections and self-corrections,   teleological, 309 
       51, 56, 91, 151-155  
Cruelty, 161, 162, 163, 164, 165, "Faculty" psychology, 61, 293  
      204-206, 211, 212           Fairy tales, 18, 19, 46  
Culture-epoch theory, 61-61, 63   Fear of animals, 211-213  
"Finding out", 15, 18, 19, 22,    Logical justification, 303-304 
      135                         "Looking inside", 160, 166, 243  
Flowers as gifts and decorations, 
      165, 175-178, 220, 227, 238 Magic, 76, 89, 94  
Formal application of know-       Maison des Petits, 96  
   ledge, 50, 54, 111 et seq.     Make-believe, 46, 54, 98, 104, 
Freedom, 7, 12-13                       117-120, 264-267  
Function of school, 19, 20, 21    Manipulative play, 231  
                                  Maps and plans, 235  
Gardening, 41, 169, 171 et seq.,  Maturation, 57, 58, 59, 61, 73  
   218, 224, 226, 229, 238, 283-     as limiting concept, 57, 71  
      284                            relation between experience  
General ability, 58-59, 69              and, 57  
Geography, 48, 248                   stages of, 73, 76  
Geometry, 221, 230, 237, 240,     Measurement, 6  
      276-282                     Mental development, continuity  
Guilt, 9, 102                           of, 66, 97  
                                     curve of, 63  
Handwork, 267-271                    psychological coherence of, 97  
History, 47                       Mental experiment, 74, 76, 104  
Hypothesis, 50, 54, 76, 104, 109  Mental growth, coherence of, 67, 
      113-117                           68  
                                  Mental ratio, influence of, 96-97  
Identification, 35                Mental "structure", 58, 73, 92, 
Ignorance, child's not belief,108       97, 293  
Imaginative construction, 50, 54, Mental tests, 60, 63  
      106, 113-117                Meteorology, 94  
Imaginative play, 99 et seq.      Modeling, 215, 216, 217, 218, 
Inconsistency of adults re              222, 233, 236, 245, 248, 249  
   animals, 161-164               Monologues, collective, 73-74, 
Infantile sexuality, 2, 10, 12          86-88  
Inhibition, lessening of, 12      Monologuism, 86  
Instinct, 2, 8, 12                Montessori material and method, 
Intelligence, general, 58-59            16, 18, 21, 45, 46, 230, 237, 
   upper limit of growth, 60            250, 272, 277, 279, 280, 281  
Intentionalism, child's, 326,328  Music, 215, 218, 220, 230, 231, 
Interest, 70-71, 97-98                  246, 248, 260-261  
   in animals, 158, 159, 160, 166,Must, uses of, 32  
      169-170, 178 et seq., 214, 
      219, 223, 234, 241, 284     "Natural" penalties, 29-30  
   in everyday facts, 17-21, 35-  Neurosis, 102, 108  
      38, 284-289                 Noegenesis, 64-65  
   in plants, 168, 169, 171-175   Noetic synthesis, 67, 97, 109  
                                  Number, 216, 223, 231, 236, 237,      
Killing of animals, 161-164, 311        240, 245, 250, 251, 276-282 
Knowledge, child's dependence    
   on, 297, 299-300               Obedience, 27-29                        
  integration of, 322             Omnipotence of thought, 32  
   successful and unsuccessful, 
      296, 299-300, 301           Parental function, 8, 27  
                                     images, 8  
Learning, 298                     "Participations", 76, 94, 107  
Levels of functioning, coexist-   Passivity of adult, 9  
   ence of, 88-91, 97             Perception, 64  
Limits and negative conditions    Phantasy, 18, 87, 92, 94, 97 et 
   of children's activity, 23-33     seq., 109, 175, 201-204  
Linay apparatus, 16, 280          Philosophy of education, 22  
Physical world, influence of, 79, Shopping, 37, 35, 46  
      80                          Social  factors in development, 
   interest in, 4, 98, 102              78-79  
Physiology, facts of, 160, 166      instincts, 74, 78  
Play, 43,46, 98, 99, 100, 101,     interchange of knowledge, 51, 
      102, 104                          151-155  
Positive stimuli to activity, 23- Specific abilities, 64, 67-70  
     48                           Speech, uses of, 40  
Practical insight and resource,   Statistical treatment of data, 3 
      50, 55, 92, 120-124, 234    Stories and verse, 230, 237, 242, 
  responsibilities of children,        261-263  
      282-283                     Stratigraphical view of develop-  
Prestige of adult, 5-11, 95             ment, 61, 64  
Problem-solving, 71               Symbol formation, 102  
Psycho-analytic technique, 101    Syncretism, 75, 88-91, 94, 107, 
Psychosis, 108                          329  
Pulleys, 233, 237, 238, 239       Synthetic juxtaposition, 75, 329  
Puzzlement, 295, 302-303, 315, 
      327                         Technique, educational, 23-48  
                                  Tenderness to animals, 164, 206-  
Qualitative observations, value         212  
   of, 1, 6                       Thought, children's, 49  
Quarrelling, 26, 233, 235, 237,     conative nexus of phantasy  
      239, 247, 256                  and, 101-103  
                                     relation between phantasy  
Rating scales, 5                     and, 5, 97-110  
Reading and writing, 229, 234,    Time table, 34  
      235, 236, 240, 243, 245,255,Three R's, 18, 45-47  
      256, 273-276                Transduction, 75  
Realism, child's, 76  
Reasoning, 51, 55, 60, 67, 71,83- Unexpectedness, 295, 297, 302, 
      85, 145-151, 243                  306, 327  
   abstract, 60, 64, 68  
   interest in, 70-71, 98          Verbal confusion, 31  
   tests of, 60, 69, 71, 91          freedom, 38  
Recapitulation theory of, 61         formulations, 43-44, 81-82  
Records, verbatim, 1-2, 5, 7         reasoning, 84, 92  
Relation, judgments of, 74          
Relations, 49                     Weights, discrimination of, 65
   spatial, 60, 68                "Why", adult use of, 305, 321  
   of time, 68                       history of interest in, 333  
Relational thought, 107              key-function of, 302  
Rhythmic movement, 260               the word, 305, 320  
                                  "Why's", 4, 51, 55, 84, 85-86, 
Scholastic tradition, 18, 12, 82        145-151, 241, 255, 293, 307, 
School, description of, 14              330  
   subjects, 21                      causal, 303 
Science, 22                          classification of, 338    
   and education, 350-354            epistemic, 301, 306, 320, 323, 
Scientific spirit, 23                   324, 325, 326, 328, 331, 332, 
See-saw, as weighing machine,           335  
      42                             informational, 323, 328  
Self-expression, 17,46,47            of motivation, 302, 305  
Sewing, 217, 220, 223, 230, 231      multiple meanings of, 302  
      239                            stimulus to, 297 et seq.           
Sex information, 158-159             teleological, 325