Our gymnasium was the kitchen hearth-rug. There was always a good fire in the grate, and it seemed to me so much better to go to sleep in front of it than to run round after my own tail, or even my mother's, though, of course, that was a great honour.
"So much better to go to sleep in front of it."
As for running after the reel of cotton when the cook dropped it, or playing with the tassel of the blind-cord, or pretending that there were mice inside the paper bag which I knew to be empty, I confess that I had no heart or imagination for these diversions.
"Of course, you know best, mother," I used to say; "but it does seem to me a dreadful waste of time. We might be much better employed."
"How better employed?" asked my mother severely.
"Why," I answered, "in eating or sleeping."
At first my mother used to box my ears, and insist on my learning such little accomplishments as she thought necessary for my station in life.
"You see," she would say, "all this playing with tails and reels and balls of worsted is a preparation for the real business of life."