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The lady's precise, metallic utterances met a profound silence. I was appalled not only at the blatant crudity of the woman but also by the recollection that I, too, had entertained such ideas on occasion.

Did Roger sense the import of this? I'm sure he didn't, though the way he snuggled closer to the Director, rubbing his little cheek against a kindly coatsleeve, led me to think he knew something serious was under discussion.

The Director stood meditatively regarding us. "Would you really like to know what my own thoughts are in this matter?" he finally asked. There was a sort of shy hesitation about him as he spoke. Roger, who still clung to his hand, he seemed to have forgotten for the moment.

"What I have in mind is without scientific value, of course," he went on. "And it's not the easiest thing to put into words, but -- , well -- , I like to think that in the far, transcendental glory of Heaven the Father of All sits brooding over humanity as it struggles on its upward way. Certain deep, significant principles of eternal truth must be brought to the earth-children. So the Father's voice is heard through the bright corridors of Heaven and the glorious host of shining spirits comes crowding to listen.

"'There is a great task to be done upon earth,' He says. 'A special lesson which the race of men must learn.

"'Little earth-babies are about to be born who will be different from the others. They will grow up in body but never in mind. Yet, they, too, must have souls. It is our business, this furnishing of souls for our earth-children.

"'For these different children brave souls are needed -- souls that can endure. Endure to sit in darkness, unseen, perhaps unknown. You will be unable to look out from their eyes; or think or plan through their minds; or speak by their lips; or shed the warmth of love from their hearts; or guide their hands and feet. You will dwell with weakness and suffering, with grief and shame, with ignorance and uncleanness, with neglect and cruelty.

"'You, who may choose to carry My message, must be content to be less than the least of all the children of men. You will be looked upon with sorrow and aversion, even disgust. Scorn and derision will follow you all your days but, in this humble guise and in no other can My message be carried to My earth-children.

"'Who among you will put yourselves to this task and go as My messengers?'

"Then," said the Director, "I can see the finest, brightest souls in all God's Heaven come crowding to the Throne -- 'Here am I, Lord!' 'And I!' 'And I!' "

Again there was silence. The Director looked down at Roger as if just realizing the child was still there. "That's all for today, little boy; and thank you for coming, Roger, you've helped us a lot."

I'm not going to try to describe my feelings; but, as the youngster passed near my chair I called to him. He stopped, confused and mystified. "Don't you know me, Roger -- boy?" I asked. Then you should have seen the beatific grin of recognition that spread over his face and heard his "It's my Aunt Abbie! MY Aunt Abbie!!" And deep in his blue eyes I saw that the wonderful Roger-that-should-have-been and the precious Roger-that-is are absolutely one and the same.

I'm staying here a day longer for Roger and I are planning a party for this evening. We will have it down at his cottage and all of the little boys of his group are invited.

Such fun! I was never happier in all my life.

Your loving sister Abigail

The Director, Edward R. Johnstone, whose heart, head and hands have guided The Training School for the past thirty-five years, is still here. He still believes that these different children have souls. He still believes that their souls are sent to them just as told in his story. So do I. It's a comforting belief to me. Perhaps it will be so to you.

HISTORY

Human history, written in pictures, words or monuments, has been brilliantly splashed in vivid colors with the names and deeds of those who have achieved fame as rulers, good or bad, warriors, scientists, inventors, teachers, patriots, saints or great sinners. The lives of the common and less than common people of their times have been painted as a drab, indistinct and inadequate background.

The true history of a nation is the history of its people, all of its people, on the march for self-expression or in retreat toward annihilation. The "Simple Annals of the Poor" may have greater historical significance than the debauchery of a Nero. The lessons to be drawn from the lives of "The Submerged Tenth" may be of greater value than those learned from "The Lives of the Saints."

The salvage and study of the imperfect product of the machine we call "civilization" will do two things; discover latent and unknown possibilities of usefulness in the imperfect output and suggest improvements in the machine itself that will reduce its wastage.

Forty-five years ago The Village of Happiness began its work as a self-constituted rear-guard to gather up a certain class of fragments cast aside by society in its progress, left behind and vainly struggling to rejoin the procession. The history of those forty-five years concerns itself with one of the most numerous and humblest groups of society. The salvage work of the Village has discovered, developed and utilized the latent possibilities in this group for useful and happy lives. Its scientific work with delayed and halting minds, carried on in laboratory, school, shop, field, playground and home, has been a major influence in the readjustment of our public school system to underprivileged, backward, and difficult children. Its Psychological Research Laboratory, Summer School for Teachers, and Extension Department have given a world-wide stimulus to thought and action in the identification, care, treatment and possibilities of the mentally retarded. It is continuing its scientific study of possible causes, still unrecognized and obscure, of such retardation.