PAMELA'S ALPHABET.
Scene.—A Domestic Interior.
Pamela's father, in one armchair, is making a praiseworthy effort to absorb an article in a review on "The Future of British Finance." In another armchair Pamela's mother is doing some sort of mending. Pamela herself, stretched upon the hearthrug, is reading aloud interesting extracts from a picture-book.
Pamela (in a cheerful sing-song). A for Donkey; B for Dicky.
Her Father. What sort of dicky?
Pamela (examining the illustration more closely). All ugly black, bissect for his blue mouf.
Her Mother (instructively). Not blue; yellow. And it's a beak, not a mouth.
Pamela. I calls it a mouf. He's eating wiv it. (With increasing disfavour) A poor little worm he's eating. Don't like him; he's crool. (She turns the page hurriedly and continues) C for Pussy; D for Mick.
[This is the name of the family mongrel. That the picture represents an absolutely thoroughbred collie matters nothing to Pamela. She spends some time in admiring Mick, then rapidly sweeps over certain illustrations that fail to attract.
Pamela (stopping at the sight of a web-footed fowl, triumphantly). G for Quack-quack.
Her Father. Oh, come, Pamela, that's not a quack-quack; that's a goose. It makes quite a different noise.
[Anticipating an immediate demand for a goose's noise he clears his throat nervously.
Pamela (with authority). This one isn't making any noise. It's jus' thinking. (Her father accepts the correction and swallows again.) H for Gee-gee. Stupid gee-gee.
Her Father. Why stupid?
Pamela. 'Acos its tail looks silly.
Her Father (glancing at the tail, which bears some resemblance to an osprey's feather). You're right; it does.
Her Mother. I wonder whether it's wrong to let children get accustomed to bad drawings?
Her Father. Pamela doesn't get accustomed—she criticises. If it weren't for a silly tail here, a stupid face there, her critical faculty might lie for ever dormant.
Pamela (having turned over four or five pages with one grasp of the hand, as if determined to suppress the unsatisfactory horse). R for Bunny.
Her Mother. No, dear, Rabbit. R for Rabbit. B for Bunny.
Pamela (gently). No; B is for Dicky. The ugly dicky wiv the blue mouf.
Her Father (rashly). The blackbird.
Pamela (conscious of superior knowledge). That isn't its name. That's what it looks like, all black; but its name is Dicky. B for Dicky.
Her Father. Well, have it your own way. What does S stand for?
Pamela (turning to the likeness of an elderly quadruped, with great assurance). Baa-lamb!
Her Father. Sometimes we call baa-lambs sheep.
Pamela. I don't.
Her Father. You will when you grow older.
Pamela. I won't be any older, not for ever so long. Not till next birfday. (Pushing her book away and assuming an air of extreme infancy) Tired of reading. Want a piggy-back, please!
Her Father (firmly taking up his review again). Not just now. I'm busy with a picture-book.
[A reproachful silence falls upon the room.
Pamela (presently, in a mournful chant). A for Don-key. B for Dicky—
The Scene closes.
