Chapter XXIII

The Children

where home is -- why this one??

>>>>Where home is a hovel, and dull we grovel,
>>>>Forgetting the world is fair.
>>>>-- ??

There is one beautiful sight in the East End,
and only one, and it is the children dancing in the
street when the organ-grinder goes his round. It
is fascinating to watch them, the new-born, the
next generation, swaying and stepping, with pretty
little mimicries and graceful inventions all their
own, with muscles that move swiftly and easily,
and bodies that leap airily, weaving rhythms never
taught in dancing school.

I have talked with these children, here, there,
and everywhere, and they struck me as being
bright as other children, and in many ways even
brighter. They have most active little imagina
tions. Their capacity for projecting themselves
into the realm of romance and fantasy is remark
able. A joyous life is romping in their blood.
They delight in music, and motion, and color, and
very often they betray a startling beauty of face
and form under their filth and rags.

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v?