His mother picked him up, clasped him to her breast, and almost smothered him with kisses.
"Oh, my dear boy!" said she; "it shan't take the nasty oil! it won't take it, the darling! Naughty nurse to hurt baby! It shall not take nasty physic!"
And then she kissed him again.
Poor Limby, although only two years old, knew what he was at—he was trying to be the master of his mother. He felt he had gained his point, and gave another kick and a squall, at the same time planting a blow on his mother's eye.
"Dear little creature!" said she; "he is in a state of high convulsions and fever. He will never recover!"
But Limby did recover, and in a few days was running about the house, and the master of it. There was nobody to be considered, nobody to be consulted, nobody to be attended to, but Limby Lumpy.
II
Limby grew up big and strong; he had everything his own way. One day, when he was at dinner with his father and mother, perched upon a double chair, with his silver knife and fork, and silver mug to drink from, he amused himself by playing drums on his plate with the mug.
"Don't make that noise, Limby, my dear," said his father.
"Dear little lamb!" said his mother; "let him amuse himself. Limby, have some pudding?"