"Now, Tommie, what will you do while I write letters this
morning?"
"Blow soap bubbles, Mamma, please," and Tommie jumped up and
down, clapping his hands for pleasure.
"Well, run and get me your pipe and bowl and I will mix you some
suds."
The soap-suds were soon ready, and Tommie took his favorite
position on the broad window-sill with the bowl in his lap.
Mamma, writing in the next room, could hear the Oh's and squeals
of delight, as the bubbles grew larger and rounder.
"Why is Tommie in all the bubbles?" asked the little boy at last.
"Because, said Mamma, "the bubbles are like a mirror, and when
my little boy is near enough to look at them, he will be
reflected in them, just the same as when he looks in Mamma's long
mirror."
"But the mirror doesn't break like the bubbles," said Tommie.
"Where do they go when they break, Mamma?"
"They evaporate, dear; that is a big word for my little boy.
Spell it after Mamma and then perhaps you will remember.
E-v-a-p-o-r-a-t-e evaporate."
"What does evaporate mean," asked Tommie bringing out the long
word with a jerk.
"Do you remember, dear," answered Mamma, "that early in the
morning when the grass is all wet with dew, my little boy cannot
run in it without his rubbers? But before long it is all dry and
then my little boy takes off his rubbers and does not get his
feet wet. The sun and the air absorb or suck up the water and
carry it off to their homes. Now, the bubbles are made of a
little water and a little air. The water is on the end of the
pipe, and Tommie blows the air into the pipe, and the bubble
grows big and round. When it breaks, the air sucks up the water,
which was the outside of the bubble, and the air which was inside
mixes with the air in the room."
"Now do you suppose you can tell Papa all about it, when he comes
home to dinner?" asked Mamma.
"Of course I can," said Tommie, proudly. "Haven't you just told
me all about it?"