afraid she would get the fever.
She used to cry to come to me, but I knew it wouldn't be good for her.”
To a child thus imaginative and thus faithful this was an absolute rehearsal of motherhood.
came, it appears from the diary that “baby” hung up her stocking with the rest.
She had a slate with a real pencil, a travelling shawl with a strap, and a cap with ruffles.
“I found baby with the cap on early in the morning, and she was so pleased that she almost jumped out of my arms.”
At the Colosseum, at St. Peter
's, baby was of the party.
“I used to take her to hear the band, in the carriage, and she went everywhere I did.”
This tenderest of parents was, of course, a girl; yet boys take their share of it, in a more robust and intermittent way, and will sometimes carry the doll to bed or to breakfast as eagerly as gills.
The love of dolls with both sexes is a variable thing, perhaps delayed unaccountably or interrupted by long intervals of indifference.
At any rate, it is the rehearsing of the most momentous part of human life — that which carries on from one generation to another the sacred fire of human affection.
Where the doll ends the child begins; or, as an author has said, “In a nursery the youngest child is something more than a doll, and the doll is a little less than a child.”