“Because I don’t think too much petticoat is good for any boy,” responded my lord and master.
“Big or little!” I couldn’t help amending, in spite of all my good intentions.
Dinky-Dunk ignored the thrust, though it plainly took an effort.
“There are times when even kindness can be a sort of cruelty,” he patiently and somewhat platitudinously pursued.
“Then I wish somebody would ill-treat me along that line,” I interjected. And this time he smiled, though it was only for a moment.
“Supposing we stick to the children,” he suggested.
“Of course,” I agreed. “And since you’ve brought the matter up I can’t help telling you that I always felt that my love for my children is the one redeeming thing in my life.”
“Thanks,” said my husband, with a wince.
“Please don’t misunderstand me. I’m merely trying 23 to say that a mother’s love for her children has to be one of the strongest and holiest things in this hard old world of ours. And it seems only natural to me that a woman should consider her children first, and plan for them, and make sacrifices for them, and fight for them if she has to.”
“It’s so natural, in fact,” remarked Dinky-Dunk, “that it has been observed in even the Bengal tigress.”