He was a little Scientist of six summers, and with his mother and a few friends made up a party who were spending a month at one of the mountain hotels in northern California. What is known as poison-oak was in flower and everywhere in evidence, and all the party, especially the children, were repeatedly warned against touching or approaching it; but the children who had learned the falsity of the material law because of the actuality of the spiritual law, handled the plant with impunity, breaking switches of it to urge on the old pony when they rode him, and bringing in sprays of the beautiful leaves with the wild flowers they found on hill and roadside.

One evening the landlady, who had formed a great attachment for our little six-year-old, was, with him, watering the roses in her garden. This garden was situated at the base of a very steep hill, and the poison-oak fairly overhung the flowers on two sides of it. As the spray dashed from the roses over the offending bushes, she called to the little fellow to step aside, saying that the wind was blowing directly upon him from off those wet bushes, and that she did not want the dear little boy to be hurt by the poison-oak. "Why, it won't hurt me; I'm not afraid of it!" he answered in surprise. "That's all right, little one," she said energetically, with an incredulous smile. "The next time I get poison-oak I shall say, 'I'm not afraid of it—it won't hurt me! Poison-oak isn't poison—God never made poison'"! etc.

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