The Child of Tumult

A poppy bud, packed into tight bundles by so hard and resolute a hand that the petals of the flower never afterwards lose the creases, is a type of the child.  Nothing but the unfolding, which is as yet in the non-existing future, can explain the manner of the close folding of character.  In both flower and child it looks much as though the process had been the reverse of what it was — as though a finished and open thing had been folded up into the bud — so plainly and certainly is the future implied, and the intention of compressing and folding-close made manifest.
With the other incidents of childish character, the crowd of impulses called “naughtiness” is perfectly perceptible — it would seem heartless to say how soon.  The naughty child (who is often an angel of tenderness and charm, affectionate beyond the capacity of his fellows, and a very ascetic of penitence when the time comes) opens early his brief campaigns and raises the standard of revolt as soon as he is capable of the desperate joys of disobedience.
But even the naughty child is an individual, and must not be treated in the mass.  He is numerous indeed, but not general, and to describe him you must take the unit, with all his incidents and his organic qualities as they are.  Take then, for instance, one naughty child in the reality of his life.  He is but six years old, slender and masculine, and not wronged by long hair, curls, or effeminate dress.  His face is delicate and too often haggard with tears of penitence that Justice herself would be glad to spare him.  Some beauty he has, and his mouth especially is so lovely as to seem not only angelic but itself an angel.  He has absolutely no self-control and his passions find him without defence.  They come upon him in the midst of his usual brilliant gaiety and cut short the frolic comedy of his fine spirits.
Then for a wild hour he is the enemy of the laws.  If you imprison him, you may hear his resounding voice as he takes a running kick at...