Two little sparrows: they saw the floor empty and hurried into the circle to imitate the dancers; each of them is two and a half years old

the likes of this gifted leader and her companions?

Then there was the mimic... the one who made us hear all the voices of the animals and the birds, down to the roaring of lions and the grunting of pigs... her single voice was like dozens of voices coming at you from here and from there... people fancied themselves in a zoo, when there was nothing there but a little girl before the microphone... she owns a pliant voice and an obliging throat... this little one, too, has a future on the stage, if mimicry is one of its requirements.

Then came the turn of comedy, and at first the little ones hung back — for crowds have their terror... then the bravest of them stepped forward and delivered, in a limpid voice free of affectation, a joke that set the audience roaring with laughter... whereupon the terror fell away from the little ones and they gathered around the loudspeaker, each awaiting his turn... here was training in public speaking and in meeting crowds without a tremor or a fright... it was one of the best things in the program... some of the little ones won the round by the beauty of their delivery more than the beauty of the joke... and some lost it by the haste of their delivery and its triviality, if the expression may pass... I remembered Taha Hussein's saying: 'Ideas that are presented badly lose their value.'

And the winners received their prizes... then everyone received prizes... and joy peeped out from the mothers' eyes... indeed, it had been peeping out all through the party, shining and beseeching, as though praying that no harm might touch these livers of theirs walking upon the earth...

Delightful it was, this children's party... it bespoke the efforts of those who ran it... only... why do some mothers insist on daubing their little daughters' faces with white and red and all that goes with them...? Is the little girl's attention to be turned, from her very

childhood, toward borrowed beauty, until she comes to see that natural, angelic beauty has no worth...?

Why is the little girl's attention fastened upon paints, so that she hurries toward the day she will use them? I have heard with my own ears a little girl say to her mother, all eagerness... When shall I grow up, Mother, so that I can put red on my lips and become beautiful like you...?

And why, indeed, at parties such as these, is the little girl's attention directed toward beauty alone, when there are a thousand other sides that have their worth?

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