of childhood of toddling round and round a tall mast, in and out, in and out,—thus winding gay ribbons about it in a spiral. That is but a small part of what this Park can do for Branton Hills. But it is an important part; for happy childhood grows up into happy adults, and happy adults” —looking right at Councilman Simpkins— “can form a happy City Council.”
Now a kid is always a kid; and a kid knows just how any sport should go. So, just by luck, a tot who was to hold a gay ribbon didn’t show up; and that big ring stood waiting, for that round-and-round march just couldn’t start with a ribbon hanging down! But a kid’s mind is mighty quick and sharp; and a small tot of four had that kind of mind, saying:—
“Oh! That last ribbon! Isn’t anybody going to hold it?”
Now historians shouldn’t laugh. Historians should only put down what occurs. But I, your historian of Branton Hills, not only had to laugh, but to roar; for this tot, worrying about that hanging ribbon, saw our big pompous Council group looking on. Now a Council is nothing to a tot of four; just a man or two, standing around. So, trotting up and grasping Old Bill’s hand, this tot said:
“You’ll hold it, won’t you?”
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