The whole question has to be constantly measured by comparing it with the rest of life. Are our methods with children those which best fit men and women for doing their share to maintain and develope human life? Does not the most casual survey of life to-day show people practising much amiability and devotion at home, strenuously loving their own immediate families and friends, and most markedly deficient in that general love for one another which is not only the main commandment of our religion, but the plainest necessity for social progress? And is not this deficiency to be accounted for, not by any inability on our part for social devotion, – for every day's list of accidents shows the common fund of heroism and self-sacrifice to be large, – but by the training which makes it the habit of our lives to love and serve only those nearest to us?

The mother is the strongest formative influence in the child's life. If he sees that she thinks only of him, lives only for him, what is he to learn by it? To think only of himself? Or only of her? Or only of his children? Does the best care of a child require the concentrated and unremittent devotion of an entire mother?

A larger intelligence applied to the subject may show us that there are better ways of serving our children than those we now follow. The woman who grows up in the practice of considering the needs of people in general, and of so ordering her life as to benefit them, will find a new power and quality in her love for her own dear ones. With that widening of the soul-range of the mother will come a capacity to judge the child as one of the people of the world, besides being her own especially beloved. A study of what all children need will help her to understand what her own child needs far more accurately than when she thinks of him as the only one. The continuous application of the mother to the child is not so advantageous as the quality of her companionship and influence, and her sacrificial devotion too often weakens his sense of justice and makes him selfish.

XI
SIX MOTHERS

Broad-minded mothers of this time are keenly interested in child-study, in that all too familiar and yet unknown field of "infant psychology." They are beginning to recognise not only the salient fact that "all children are different," but the equally important one that all children have points in common.

The need of union and discussion among mothers is resulting in the mothers' clubs and parents' congresses, which form so noble an example of the progressive thought.

But so far, with all the kindly interest and keen desire for improved methods of child-culture, the mother has to return and grapple with her individual problem alone.

Here are one or two simple and practical suggestions, the careful pursuance of which, with some clear record of proceedings, would not only be of immediate assistance to the mothers concerned, but to all the other mothers yet to be aroused to the importance of such action.

Let us suppose six mothers, to take a very low number, – six mothers in one town, one village, or one city, even in the open country, so that they could reach each other easily; six mothers, who were friends and "social equals," and who were willing to admit the deficiencies of our general present methods of child-culture, and also willing to improve those methods. It is permissible for each mother to imagine that her own methods are superior to those of the other mothers, as this will give her a beautiful sense of helpfulness in allowing these superior methods to be observed and studied by the less able.

A conscious sense of inferiority is also no obstacle, for a mother having that feeling would be eager to improve by study of the better ways.

These six mothers divide the working days of the week among them, agreeing that each shall on her chosen day take charge of the children of the other five. This might be for a part of the day or the whole day, as is thought best, – let us suppose it merely for the afternoon; and it could be limited, as desired, to children of a certain age, and still further reduced, as a mild beginning, to one child apiece from each family.

This would give, as a minimum, five extra children on one afternoon a week to each mother. The maximum would be of course uncertain; but, if all the children of each mother were thus to go visiting for any part of the day, it would give to each one day in which that larger responsibility was undertaken, and five days free. There would remain Sunday, in which each family, complete, would be at home.

Now let us take a hypothetical case, and suppose that our six mothers, with considerable trepidation, have chosen one child apiece that they were willing to intrust for the afternoon to the watchful care of these familiar friends. The children, be it rigidly insisted, are to know nothing whatever of the purposes or methods involved. All that little Johnny Black knows is that Mrs. White has asked him to come over on Monday afternoon and play with Alice and Billy White, and some other children that he knows, too; that presently Mrs. Green has them come to her house on Tuesday, and Mrs. Brown on Wednesday; that his mamma lets them all come and play with him on Thursday, – in short, that his afternoons have become full and rich and pleasantly exciting, like some wonderful procession of parties.

"Not like regular parties, either," Johnny would explain. "You don't have to dress up – much, – just be clean, to begin with. And they don't have ice-cream and macaroons, – only just milk and crackers when you get hungry; and – well, 'tisn't so much regular games and p'r'aps dancin' – like a party, – we just play. And Mrs. White, or whichever one 'tis, she generally has some nice young lady in with her; and they sort of keep things going, – as if 'twas a real party. It's nicer some ways, I think."

"And which place do you like best, Johnny?"

"Oh, I do' know! Billy White has the biggest yard. But Jim Grey has the best swing; and there's a pond at Susy Green's, – a real pond, – and nothing but girls live there! Then it's lots of fun when they come to our house, 'cause I can show 'em my rabbits and make Jack do all his tricks."

Yes, the children all enjoy it. It means variety, it means company, it means a wider and closer acquaintance and all the benefits of well-chosen association and larger environment. It fills a part of the day. There is no more aimless asking, "What shall I do now?" with the vague response, "Oh, run away and play!" or the suggestion of some well-worn amusement.

It means, too, a little more sense of "company manners" and behaviour, and, on the other hand, a better appreciation of home life.

And to the mother, – what good will this do her?

Each mother would have one day in the week in which to carefully observe children, —not her own specially beloved children, but just children, as such. Her observation and care should be absolutely unobtrusive: the moment the little ones knew they were being watched, the value of the plan would be greatly impaired; and, to stop at a minor detail, from the palpable necessity for doing this work without the child's consciousness, mothers would learn to cover the machinery of government at home. It is one of our grossest and most frequent errors in the management of children that we openly discuss our efforts and failures. They know that we are struggling to produce certain results in their behaviour, usually in a futile manner.

With, however, a large and definite purpose resting so absolutely on the child's unconsciousness, more wisdom in this line would soon develope.

The mother who now says, "What would you do with a child like that?" or "I'm sure I don't know what to do with that child!" before the child in question, would soon perceive that such an attitude in an educator does not produce confidence in the object of the education. Quietly and unostentatiously, and often with the assistance of some keen girl-friend, these mothers would soon learn to observe accurately, to generalise carefully, to reduce cautiously, and then to put the deduction into practice and observe the results.

As beginners, pioneers, they should make their first steps very modestly. For the first season some one trait should be chosen for study, – say self-control or courage or consideration of others. Having decided on their line of observation, let each mother make a little note of how high each child in the group stands in this line.

How much self-control has my Johnny, as measured by his age? – as compared with others of his age? When did I first notice self-control in Johnny? When have I seen it greatest? Does he gain in it? What should be done to help Johnny gain in self-control? And then go over the same questions with regard to the other children.

Then, with self-control as the characteristic, the natural development and best education of which they wish to study, the afternoon parties begin. At first the children might be left absolutely free to play in ordinary lines. Then, after the first observations were recorded, delicate experiments could be introduced, and their results added to the record.

It is very difficult for the individual mother to rightly estimate her own children. "Every crow thinks her babe the blackest."

Yet the character of the child is forming without regard to any fond prejudice or too severe criticism; and his life's happiness depends on his interaction with people in general, not simply with beloved ones at home. The measure of Johnny's self-control may not seem important to the parental love which covers or the parental force which compels; but to Johnny's after-life its importance is pre-eminent. When one sits for a portrait to a fond and familiar friend, and sees all fondness and familiarity die out from the eyes of the artist, feels one's personality sink into a mass of "values," it brings a strange sense of chill remoteness. So, no doubt, to the mother heart the idea of calmly estimating Johnny's self-control and comparing it with Jim Grey's seems cold enough. To have Mrs. Grey estimate it, – and perhaps (terrible thought!) to estimate it as less than Jim's, – this is hard, indeed.

Yet this is precisely what is to be obtained in such a combination as this, and in no other way, – the value of an outside observer, through Mrs. Grey's estimate.

Nobody's opinion alters facts. The relative virtues of Johnny and Jim remain unchanged, no matter what their respective mothers think or what their irrespective mothers think. But each mother will derive invaluable side-lights from the other mother's point of view.

Each opinion must be backed with illustration. Instances of observed behaviour must be massed before any judgment has value.

"I think your Jim is so brave, Mrs. Grey. When the children were with me the other day, the cow got loose; and the girls all ran. Some boys ran, too; and Jimmy drove her back into the cow-yard."

"But Jimmy was the oldest," says Mrs. White. "Perhaps, if he'd been as young as my Billy, he wouldn't have been so brave."

"And he is afraid of the dark," says Mrs. Brown. "At my house he wouldn't go into the back cellar after apples, even with the other children. Isn't he afraid of the dark, Mrs. Grey?"

Mrs. Grey admits this, but cites instances to show courage in other directions. And always five dispassionate observers to the one deeply loving and prejudiced.

If it should happen that Jimmy is generally admitted brave beyond his years, with the one exception of fearing darkness, and that exception traceable to a nurse-maid's influence, the mother of Jimmy is rejoiced; and a strong light is thrown on the nurse question. If it prove that by general opinion there is a lack of courage such as should belong to his years, there is cause for special study and special action in this line. Most valuable of all, the habit of observing a child's behaviour as an expression of character is formed.

The six mothers would of course meet to compare notes, preferably in evenings, when children were all in bed and fathers could be present; and the usual difficulty of leaving home in the evening could be met in such an important case as this by engaging some suitable person to come in for an hour or two and stay with the sleeping little ones.

All such details would have to be arranged according to personal and local conditions; but the end to be attained is of such enormous value that considerable effort is justified in reaching it. Even in the beginning, a usefulness would be found in the united interest, the mutual helpfulness of the combined women, drawn together by the infinite and beautiful possibilities of their great work. In the light of other eyes, they would see their own children in new lights, and, by careful following of agreed lines of treatment, soon learn with some finality what would and what would not be useful in a given case.

The observations and experiments of one earnest group of mothers like this would be a stimulus and help to uncounted thousands of ungrouped mothers who are struggling on alone.

It is by such effort as this, such interchange of view and combined study, and the slowly accumulating record of established facts, that humanity progresses in any line of similar work, – in floriculture or horticulture or agriculture, or what you will; and this greatest of all our labours, humaniculture, sadly lacks the application of the true social law, – in union is strength.

The child needs not only love, but wisdom and justice; and these grow best in the human soul through combination.

XII
MEDITATIONS ON THE NURSE-MAID

"The trouble with these household problems which vex women so much is that we do not give our minds to them sufficiently," said earnest little Mrs. Blythe. "Now I mean to give my mind to this nurse-maid problem, and work it out."

It is high time that somebody did. And it is not only on my own account: this is something which affects us all, – all who have nurse-maids, that is. I suppose the mothers without nurse-maids have their problems, too; but I must consider mine now.

Now what is the matter with the nurse-maid? She does not suit me. She has palpable faults and deficiencies. I want a better nurse-maid. So far I have trusted to the law of supply and demand to produce her, but it does not seem to work. I demand her, just as I have demanded a better housemaid for some time; but the supply is not forthcoming. So now I mean to think it out, and see if I cannot find a way to the invention, discovery, or manufacture of a better nurse-maid. And I mean to be very clear and logical in my thinking about it, so as to come out in the end with proof. I want to prove what is the matter with the nurse-maid and how to make her better.

In the first place, what are my objections to the nurse-maid now? She is careless and irresponsible. She is ignorant. She is ill-mannered. She is often deceitful. I can't trust her.

Now it doesn't seem right that my child should be placed in the care of an ignorant, ill-mannered, careless, and irresponsible person, – even if not also untrustworthy, – does it? And it does not relieve me of the care as it ought. I have to take care of the child and the nurse-maid, too. What I want is a careful, responsible, wise, well-mannered, honourable young girl. She ought to have special training, too. It is really dreadful the way these ignorant girls undertake to care for children. We need schools – training schools – and diplomas. They could have practice classes on the children of the poor – or in institutions; and yet that idea does not quite suit me, either. My child is very individual and peculiar, and I don't believe that practising on poor children would fit a nurse-maid to take care of my child. But nice people would not want their children to be practised on. They would have to take the poor ones: it would do them good, anyway. They get no care now: their mothers are shockingly ignorant and neglectful.

But, after all, I don't have to arrange the training schools. I only know that she ought to have special training, and it ought to be practical as well as theoretical; and that means practising on some children somewhere, somehow. And they certainly would have to be poor, because rich people would not let their children go to be practised on. Maybe the poor people would not, either. Then it would have to be orphans, I guess, combining nurse-training schools with orphan asylums, and foundlings, too.

Well, now these nurse-maids would go to these training schools to improve themselves, would they! Come to think of it, they only go to nursing because they need the pay; and, even if the training schools were free, they'd have to wait longer for their money. And, if they got no more with training than without, they would not go, I'm afraid. We should certainly have to pay them more trained than untrained. That is perfectly logical, I'm sure. And, of course, that would be an obstacle. If the training schools were not free, we should have to pay them more yet, – enough to make it worth while to study the business of caring for children. A short course might do, – six months or a year.

I've heard my mother say that she knew something about taking care of children by the time Charley was born. But that was, – well, I was eight, and I'm the third, – that was about twelve years. Oh, but she wasn't in a training school! That would teach them faster. There would be more children to practise on. Let me see: if it took my mother twelve years to learn by practising on five children (Charley was the fifth, – four children), how many children would it take to learn on in one year? I'll get John to do that for me: I'm not good at figures. Besides, it's different, – altogether different; for my mother was a mother, so she knew how, to begin with, and nurse-maids are not. So – to be strictly logical – it ought to take nurse-maids longer, I'm afraid. The training schools will have to be free: I'm pretty sure of that. And that means public or private endowment. We might as well think it all out clearly.

Should it be added to the public-school system, – open to all girls, – perhaps compulsory? Why not! Why wouldn't it be a good thing for all girls to know something of the care of children? But could we do that? Public schools are in politics; and that is awful. It would take forever to get it that way; and my child wants a nurse-maid now! Private endowment, I guess. So many rich people want to help the masses. This would furnish employment, raise wages, and give us nurse-maids. I'm sure it would appeal to any philanthropist.

Yes, some rich person must endow a training school for nurses, – that sounds like hospitals; for child-nurses, – that sounds like wet-nurses; for nurse-maids, – why need they be maids, though? Well, if they were married, they would have children of their own of course, and couldn't take care of ours. One would think, though, that motherhood would give them more experience, – that they would know how to care for children better. But, then, they wouldn't want to leave their own children to take care of ours. And they couldn't take care of them together. A mother would naturally do more for her own: she wouldn't be fair.

A training school for nurse-maids. After all, "maid" does not mean "unmarried" in this connection: it means simply "servant." And "nurse" comes from the time when mere nursing was all that was required, – a kind of a survival of old customs. How these things do open up, when one thinks about them! Why "nurse-maid" at all! Why not have a new and attractive name: that would help make them go to the training school, too.

Nurse, nursing, – it isn't nursing our children want. They are not sick, and they don't stay babies all the time they need this person. What is it that our children need? Of course, they do need direct, personal care; and, when they are babies, they need real "nursing," – just somebody to – to – well, they have to be fed, – and that only needs a knowledge of infant physiology and nutrition; to keep the bottles clean, of course, and be very accurate, and follow directions. They don't need to know so much after all: the doctor tells what to give it to eat and what not to. And the mother understands the child's needs! Still, even for babies, they need some kind of training, – the nurses, I mean, – not the mothers: it is divinely implanted in the mother. And, then, mothers are studying these things now. I know ever so many young mothers who are taking child-study now; and about nutrition, too.

But the trouble is they can't depend on the nurses to carry out instructions. If they were only trustworthy! Will the training schools make them honourable? I suppose so. They would get some sense of the importance and dignity of their work. They would be graded and marked, of course, in their diplomas, so that one could pick out the dependable ones; and that would gradually elevate the standard. The trouble is, of course, when they go out. Children must be out of doors; and, in cities where we have no yards, they cannot be under the mother's eye, so they must be out with the nurse-maid. That's perfectly logical. Then there are the other nurse-maids. One cannot keep them isolated: that's out of the question. And if they have admirers, as they do, of course, – young girls always will have admirers, and training schools will not alter that, – why, if they meet their admirers, it has a tendency to make them careless. That is natural. We must allow for such things. And it is a perfectly natural temptation to take the baby to see their own families. We forbid it, of course; but I admit that it is a temptation. And there are all those awful risks of diseases and things. Now, if their families were nicer people and lived in nicer places, – but then they wouldn't want to be nurse-maids! But if the training school raises wages and standards, that will have an effect on the class of people who take up the work.

It certainly is the noblest, most beautiful, most important work in the world, – the training of children. I wonder why our own girls do not take it up, – our college girls. But then, of course, they wouldn't be "nurse-maids." Perhaps, if it had another name —

Now let me think, and be fair. Would I want my sister Jessie to be a nurse-maid? She is taking a kindergarten course, and we all approve of that: it does help one so in all those problems that perplex a mother! But, if she went to Mrs. MacAdoo's as a nurse-maid – The MacAdoos are nice people, too; and the children are as nice as any I know. They have a Swedish nurse-maid now, – a big, hearty, wholesome-looking girl, but stupid. Why, she cannot answer the simplest questions Harold asks, hardly; and he's always asking them. Jessie has him in the kindergarten where she is. I don't mean that she's the principal, but she is training there; and she tells me what a bright child he is, and what stupid things Christine has told him. And you see he has Jessie only three hours a day, and Christine all the time he's awake. Jessie is taking a special course in infant psychology, and she says Christine is doing him a world of harm. But she is so good-natured and faithful that they keep her. They don't realise that her being stupid is any harm to the children, I suppose. But, if Jessie had him all the time, Harold certainly would develope more rationally and more easily. And yet I am sure Jessie would not take Christine's place. You see we visit the MacAdoos, and it would be so awkward. Now, I think, – logically, – I am approaching a – I forget the name of it, but it's a thing there's no way out of.

We would like our nurse-maids to be ladies, but ladies are not willing to be nurse-maids. Now will the training school make ladies – or, at least, partial ladies – of our nurse-maids? And, if it does, will that make them disinclined to be nurse-maids? Or can we arrange the position of the nurse-maid, so that ladies will be willing to take it? What is the real difference between Jessie's position and Christine's? Why, Jessie has a lot of children come to her part of the time; and Christine has a few children, and goes to them all the time. And Jessie has, – or will have when she's graduated and has a kindergarten of her own, as I daresay she will, – she has control of the children while they are with her, and can carry out her principles. The mothers even consult her sometimes.

But Christine has to carry out the mother's orders. She does what she is told – or ought to. No, Jessie never would be willing to take Mrs. MacAdoo's orders about the children. Mrs. MacAdoo is exceptionally stupid about children, I do think. She doesn't think Christine's telling them stories about things to frighten them is any harm, – says they'll outgrow it. And anybody who knows anything of infant psychology knows how dangerous it is to frighten children. And yet, of course, to be perfectly fair, I wouldn't want a nurse-maid to dictate to me about my child. It is out of the question – absolutely. Why, it would destroy the mother's influence and authority altogether! And – come to think of it – I suppose a trained nurse-maid would have views of her own, and they might conflict with the mother's —

Now, where I have got to so far, – it is beautiful, thinking things out clearly, – we want our children taken care of by ladies, honourable, intelligent, educated, refined, and specially trained for the business. I'm quite certain about that. Like Jessie, for instance. She is just born for it, – always did love children, and knew how to manage them from the time she was a little girl. And she's studying all the science of it and practising in the kindergarten, – on the same kind of children, too. Jessie is the ideal. It is really wonderful to see her with them. They love her, and they do what she says, too; but she never seems to be making them do anything: they just do it. Those MacAdoos behave very much better with her than they do with their mother. I believe most of the children do, for that matter. Except little Cassie Wells. She has the most devoted mother I ever saw. It is a lesson to us all. She never lets her out of her sight, I do believe. Often comes to the kindergarten, just to be with her. And, you see, Cassie just depends on her for everything; and nobody else can do anything with her. It is beautiful, – such absolute dependence and absorption. Yes, as I said, Jessie is the ideal. But, then, Jessie is not a nurse-maid, and never would be.

Of course, if there was any way that Jessie could have the children with her and have her way with them, as she does in the kindergarten – But you can't do that with little children, – you cannot separate the child from its mother! When they are older, they go to school, of course; and, when they are older yet, they go to college, and so on. But the little child needs its mother every hour. And, as its mother cannot possibly give it every hour, we have to have the nurse-maid. If mothers had no other claims, then, of course, you would have the highest ideal relation. Cassie Wells's mother has given up everything else. She doesn't go out with her husband at all. Says that society has no claim beside that of the child. Of course, he stays at home with her – mostly.

I'm sure a man ought to value his wife's society more than any other, especially when she is such a devoted mother. She takes all the periodicals about children, and reads all the books; and then she modifies it all to suit her particular child. I never knew any mother so conscientiously given up to the care of a child. She really talks of nothing else. And, when that child is sick, – and she is extremely delicate and always having dangerous illnesses, – her mother is simply glued to her bedside: they can't drag her away. It is a pity that the child is not better material; for she isn't particularly bright, nor very well behaved, I think. But, then, her mother is doing everything that can be done.

Jessie says that child is being mothered too much, – that she needs more freedom and an impartial outside management. But, then, Jessie is a good deal of a theorist; and, after all, she isn't a mother. Nothing can really equal the mother's care for her own child! Still, we simply can't do it, – all of us, – as families increase. We owe something to our husbands, I am sure; and we have our social duties; and our health is not always equal to such a strain. No, the mother must have help; and that means the nurse-maid. It's no use talking about Jessie. Even if she would do it, there's not enough of her to go around! We never can expect that "faculty with children" in everybody: they simply don't have it. Most girls don't care much for children, nor know anything about them. Of course, after they become mothers, it is different. Then it all comes to them.

Now, if nurse-maids could be mothers first – But I argued that out before. If they were, they wouldn't be mothers of our children; and motherhood only teaches how to do what is best for one's own children. Besides, we couldn't hire them then, because we would not separate mothers from their own children; and, if they had their children and ours, too, they would not treat them fairly. And we would not want them brought up with ours, either. No, they've got to be "maids," that's sure.

Now the average young girl does not know or care much about children. Therefore, she has to be trained. (What a comfort it is to be really logical!) And, as there is no place to train them now, we have got to make a place. It all comes round to the training school for nurse-maids. That's the logical outcome.

Again, since we must have private nurse-maids under our orders, – really a servant, – we cannot expect ladies to take such positions. And – this ought to be bracketted with that last – since we cannot, of course, pay more than so much, that is against ladies doing it, too. Some people can, I know. Jessie told me of a very nice girl she knew, – a classmate in college and a trained kindergartner, – who was unable to get such a position as she wanted, and took a place with some very rich people as a sort of lady nurse-teacher to the children. But she said it was perfectly horrid, especially in travelling, having to eat with servants and be treated as such. I can see that it would take a kind of heroism, and we cannot really count on heroic nurse-maids. No, it has to be from the lower classes that we take our nurse-maids. I think that is proved. The average employer simply couldn't pay them enough to attract a higher class of labour. These are really questions of political economy in part, you see.