“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?”