Her Birthday

bother, but wold I give her a biscuit or a
drink of water?

She has all along been a curious combina-
tion of tenderness and savagery. In a
sudden fit of motherhood she will bring me
her dolly to kiss, and ten minutes later I
shall see it lying undressed and abandoned
in a corner of the room. She is a Spartan
parent, and slight is the chance of her chil-
dren being spoiled either by sparing the rod
or lack of stern monition. It is not so long
ago that we heard a curious sound of distress
in the dining-room, and on her mother
hurrying downstairs to see what was amiss,
there was W. V. chastising her recalcitrant
babe —and doing the weeping herself. This
appeared to be a good opportunity for point-
ing a moral. It was clear now that she
knew what it was to be naughty and dis-
obedient, and if she punished these faults
so severely in her own children she must
expect me to deal with her manifold and
grievous offences in the same way. She
looked very much sobered and concerned,
but a few moments later she brought me a
stout oak walking-stick: “ Would that do,

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