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“Some _ Inf’ mation

For Mother’”’
Se

How One Man Answered
the Questions of a Child
About Reproduction

2

By JOHN PALMER GAVIT
Managing Editor of The New York Evening Post

x

SECOND EDITION

Single Copies, 15 Cents
Special Rates in Quantities

New York EveninG Post Co.
20 Vesey St., New York

“Some Inf’ mation
For Mother”

se

How One Man Answered
the Questions of a Child
About Reproduction

x

By JOHN PALMER GAVIT
Managing Editor of The New York Evening Post

2

SECOND EDITION

THE NaTIon Press
1916

Mae:

eed

oe Copyright, 1914 - -
: TR oe A Copyngtt, 1986.
| _ By Joun Parmer Gavir
3 ete All Rights Reserved a
| WUN 11916

a * m vast i
. 7 oH ‘ 4 5 rn

“Some Inf’ mation
for Mother”

T was evident to the Iconoclast
as he came up from the lake
with his big string of fish and
seated himself upon the steps
of the veranda, that he had
interrupted a conversation out
of the ordinary. Nobody no-

ticed his highly satisfactory catch. The Kinder-
gartner rose as if about to leave, but sat down
again. [here was a space of somewhat em-
barrassed silence. Then the Professor, in his
most mmpressive tone, resumed:

‘“Tgnorance undoubtedly is the main, though
by no means the only, root of the trouble.
Every child should be taught at least the rudi-
ments of the truth about himself or herself;
yet in a way so gentle, so gradual, and so .
tactful that there may be no shock; no rude
violation of its natural reserve and delicacy.”’

‘For my part,’ said the Neighbor, flushed.
with the consciousness of trespassing upon

3.

ground usually forbidden, “I am quite willing
- to give my little boy this information, but I
do not know when, or in what language. I
know nothing of medicine.” Of course, she
meant physiology.

“Oh, but you know about the flowers!”
broke in the Kindergartner, in that tone that
kindergartners use. ‘The beautiful story of
the fertilization of the blossoms! The bees—”

“No, I don’t. And besides, the fertilization,
as you call it, that I want to tell him about
isn’t done by bees.”

“IT never could understand,” interposed the
Iconoclast, ‘‘why there should be all this intense
and even hysterical ‘delicacy’ about the teach-
ing of sex truth to children. You tell your
boys and girls about their teeth and ears and
eyes; you make no secret of their digestion,
or of the operation of heart and lungs. You
even teach these things to them together in
school. But—ye gods and little fishes !—the
minute you come to these most important
functions of all, you stick your heads in the
sand like ostriches, and act as if it were some-
thing to be ashamed of. If I had my way—”’

“Surely,” gasped the Neighbor, “you would
not teach such things in public!”’ |

“Well, I don’t know. As far as I am con-
4

cerned, I would teach about sex just as I would
teach about chemistry, or spelling. But I under-
stand well enough that I am a barbarian. So I
take it from your own point of view, and say
that I don’t care when or how you teach your
little boy or your little girl about this thing,
if you only tell it frankly—the plain, ordinary
truth, in a plain, ordinary and perfectly shame-
less way.”

“Yes, but the when and the how are every-
thing,’ protested the Neighbor.

“When the child is old enough to ask, he’s
old enough to have an honest answer.’’

“You must conserve the innate delicacy of
the child,” insisted the Professor.

“I told my little girl,’’ said the Professor's
wife, who thus far had been silent, ‘‘that this
subject must be a secret, a beautiful secret,
between us, and that ‘she must never speak of
it to any one but me.’

‘And you told her—”

“All that I thought good for her. I told
her in an allegorical way, about the flowers,
and the pollen, and the bees, and how the
seeds formed.” |

“Beautiful!” softly exclaimed the Feder
gartner.

‘How did she take it?” the Neighbor asked.

bs)

“She seemed interested, and asked if babies
came from bees.”

‘To which you replied—”’ |

‘“T promised to tell her more when she was
older.” | | | |

‘‘And meanwhile she is to keep the story
of the flowers and the bees and the pollen as
a ‘beautiful secret’ between herself and you?”
The Iconoclast’s voice trembled with some sup-
pressed emotion.

‘Yes, I prefer that she should not talk about
these matters with anybody but her mother.”

The Iconoclast rose with a sigh, saying:

“Well, I’ve got to clean these fish or you
won't have anything for dinner.”

se Se
At THE back of the house was the big

stump of a tree, with a wide board across
the top, upon which it was the custom to clean
the fish of which the lake furnished an inex-
haustible supply. He laid upon it one of the
largest, felt the edge of his knife with his
thumb, and leaned over to the task.
-- “What are you doing?” The Professor’s
little girl ran across the sand to see.
_ “Cleaning these fish for your dinner, Prin-
cess.” |

“May I watch?”

“Certainly, if you'll keep your fingers out of
the way of this sharp knife.”’

The fish lay open and flat, and the knife-
point was lifting a great mass of yellow-pink
roe. |

‘“What’s that?’

“That is called roe; it’s made up of thov-
sands of eggs.”

“Eggs! How funny! Do fish lay eggs?”
‘Oh, yes, indeed. All animals—” the Icono-
clast checked himself.
“Where do they lay ’em?”’

‘In different places, and different ways. Some
fish even make nests; I’ve seen them. But most
fish, I think, go up into the shallow water of
streams, and lay their eggs on the pebbles of
the bottom.”

“Do they sit on them, like a hen? How can
they—such a lot of them?”

“No, the eggs just lie there in the water until
they hatch. The mother-fish doesn’t need to
keep them warm, as birds do. She just goes
on about whatever business she has.”’

‘And never cares what happens to her
eggs?’

“T don’t think she worries much about
them.” : | aoe

7

Another fish was slit open and laid upon the
board.

“Oh, what’s that—that white thing? That
isn’t eggs, like the other, 1 is it? It’s about the
same shape and size.’

TS Iconoclast stood up and reasoned with

himself. How far was he at liberty to
go in answering these simple questions? Was
it his business to abash this eager curiosity?

“No,” he said at last, “that ts net seggme
That is what is called milt.”’ |

“What's it for?’

‘Well, you see, this is a father-fish. The
eggs have to have this milt put on them, or
they won't hatch. So after the mother-fish
lays the eggs on the pebbles at the bottom of
the stream, the father-fish comes along, and
spreads this milt through the water over the
eggs.’

‘‘How does he know where to find them?”

“T don’t know. That is one of the secrets
that the fish keep to themselves. Anyway, the
father-fish seems to know where to look for
them.”

‘“S’posin’ he didn’t want to lay the milt on
the eggs, or put it somewhere else. Then there

8

wouldn’t be any little fish hatched out, would
there?”

‘“‘No, there wouldn't. The eggs would just
lie there and die. But the father-fish some-
how seems to like to do it.”’

_“T s’pose he thinks of the cunning little fish
that will hatch owt if he does his part. And
then he goes away with the mother-fish and
they decide what to name their children.”

“Very likely,’ laughed the Iconoclast.

The little girl was silent for a time, watch-
ing the deft knife at its dissection; speaking
only to identify the father-fish and mother-fish
as they came in turn, and laying them side by
side in couples.

“TI s’pose there are father-birds and mother-
birds ?”’

“Oh, yes.”’

‘Do the father-birds have milt too?”

The Iconoclast straightened up and rubbed
the hinge in his back. Cleaning fish is weary
work, when you have to stoop so far. He
looked away at the wooded hills across the
lake. |

‘I asked you a question. It isn’t polite not
to answer. Do father-birds have milt ?”

He looked down into the big, clear eyes of
the eager little face under the blowing curls.

“Yes, father-birds have milt.”’

9

‘‘And after the mother-bird lays her eggs in
the nest, she goes away and lets the father-bird
come in to put the milt on them. Of course,
if he didn’t, the eggs wouldn't hatch.” She
said this with an air of conviction. |

Then the Iconoclast decided something once
for all; stooped over the fish- cleaning again,
and said:

“Tt isn’t quite like that with birds. The
father-bird puts the milt on the egg before the
mother-bird lays it.”’

‘But I don’t see—oh, do you mean while
it is in the mother-bird’s body ?”’

‘Just so.”

She was thoughtful for a moment. From
the corner of his eye he could see that her
brow was knit. Here was a mechanical prob-
lem. He wondered how he would put it.

‘Well, that explains something!” she cried
at last. “I do believe I’ve seen them doing
it. Do you know, I never dreamed of it. I
thought they were always fighting.”

“They were not fighting.”’

The little girl was thinking again. Presently
she asked:

‘Did you ever see a cat’s egg?”

' No, L can't say PT ever did.’

‘‘T’ve always wondered about that. I asked

10

my mother and she said cats were very secret
about their eggs.”

“Oh, she said that, did she?”’

“Yes, and she said I mustn’t ask her any
more about it. You don’t mind my asking you,
do you? I’m really very much int’rested.”

“Not at all. I’m glad to tell you anything
I know.”

“Well, then, tell me this: Where do cats
lay their eggs? I’d like awfully to see a cat’s
egg.’

“You're not likely to see one. In the first
place, it would be very tiny—too small to see
without a microscope, and—’’ |

“But a kitten isn’t so very tiny, and I’ve
seen them lots of times, just brand-new, fresh-
hatched.”

‘Ah, but you didn’t see the kitten fresh-
hatched. he cat’s egg never leaves the
mother-cat’s body at all. The nest where the
kitten hatches out is inside of the mother-cat.”

Se child’s eyes were wide with wonder.

‘Then the teeny-weeny little new-hatched
kitten just stays there in the mother till it’s
big enough to be let out?”

“Exactly.”

“Isn’t that lovely?”

11

The Iconoclast is regarded as a hardened
person; but he had not found voice when she

added:

“I see now why the mother-cat is so fond
of her kitten—she’s been it’s nest so long!”

“IT expect that’s one of the reasons.”’

“Of course, the mother-fish wouldn’t care
so much; there are so many of hers, and she
just leaves them any old way and swims oft.
Maybe she forgets where she put ‘em. The
mother-bird cares more, I s’pose, because she’s
been sitting on the eggs. But there are two,
three, four, five kittens sometimes. Our cat
had six, once. Are they all in there at once
in the nice, warm, cosy mother-nest ?”’

‘Yes, all in there together.”’

‘How can she tell when they’re big enough
to be let out?”

“That's a thing nobody seems to know—
except the mother-cat. She knows when the
right time comes.”

“T guess they must get pretty heavy. They
do let them out too soon, sometimes; the ones
I’ve seen didn’t have their eyes open yet. I
should think she would keep them till they
could see and walk around.”

‘“They never have their eyes open when they
are born.”

12

_ “So that’s what we call being born! It’s just
being let out of the mother-nest ?”

‘That is exactly what it is.”

‘And is it just the same with dogs, and little
calves, and horses, and elephants, and—”’

-yust the same.”’
Silence again. Then:

‘But there is one thing I don’t exactly under-
stand. After little birds hatch, the mother-
bird brings them worms and things. How do
the little kittens and elephants be fed in the
mother-nest before they are born?”’

‘While they are in there they are fed from
the mother’s own body.”’

‘‘No wonder she loves them!”’ cried the little
girl. “Of course, she knows they’re in there?”’

“Oh, yes, she—’’

‘Why, yes, she must. She’d remember when
the eggs were fixed so they'd hatch. Of course;
that was a foolish question. And they feed
from their mother after they are born, too;
I’ve seen them—all the cunning little kittens,
nursing in a row.”

“Yes, that is one of the differences in animals.
The little fishes have to hustle for themselves
right away after they are hatched. And the
little birds do not nurse; the mother-bird, and

13

the father-bird, too, usually, bring them food
in their bills, and they stay in the nest until
they get their feathers and their wings are
strong enough to fly.

“But all the warm-blooded animals bring
forth their little ones like the cat, and nurse
them until they are able to be weaned, as it
is called; that is, to eat something besides the
mother’s milk.”’

‘‘Weaned? Why, they wean babies—I heard
my mother say so. Is that what it means?”

“That is what it means.”

“But I thought babies got their milk from
bottles! I know I certainly did.”

‘Sometimes that is necessary; but most hu-
man mothers nurse their babies, when they are
able to, just as cats do.”’

‘‘And do babies come from eggs, and hatch
out in the mother-nest, like the warm-blooded
animals ?”’

“They do. Men and women and children
are warm-blooded animals. The baby stays in
the mother-nest until the time comes for it to
be born, just as the kitten does.”’

“Isn't that beautiful? Now, why didn’t my
mother tell me that when I asked her? She
said it was a terrible secret, and that I mustn’t
talk about it to anybody else but her, and then

14

sne told me about flowers and pollen and bees,
and I got all mixed up. I couldn’t see what
bees had to do with babies—except to sting
i

‘They have nothing to do with babies, as
you say,” the Iconoclast said, “but a great deal
to do with flowers. If you will just remember
that the pollen that the bees carry from one
blossom to another is for exactly the same pur-
pose as the milt of the father-fish, you will
understand better.” |

‘Do you mean that the flower-seeds wouldn’t
grow without the pollen that the bee brings ?”’

“That is it, Princess.”

The little girl’s brow was knit again, and
there was real trouble in her voice as she said:

‘It seems funny to me that my mother didn’t
know how babies come. She certainly had
“met

Suddenly she started away toward the house,
saying :

“— thank you very much. You'll have to
’*xcuse me, now; I’ve simply got to give my
mother some inf’mation!”’

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