“Oh, mamma!” he exclaimed, his whole face glowing with excitement, “oh, mamma, do come and see what a nice pond there is out here to sail boats in. And see, mamma,” holding up a “mud-cake” as he spoke, “see what a nice cake I have made!” Although vexed that her darling, of whose locks, and clean complexion, and trim dress she had always been so proud, should present such an appearance, she yielded to his entreaties, and followed the child without the gate into the lane, where a mud-puddle of formidable dimensions at once explained the mystery of the pond and the beautiful cakes he had been engaged in concocting.
“And see, mamma,” he added, clapping his hand, and pointing to a swarm of yellow butterflies which were settling round the edge of the puddle, “see what bootiful birds, and whenever I get close up to them to catch them, they just fly away.”
“Happy child!” thought his mother; “to you the cares of life are unknown. Happier, doubtless, will you for some time be here, chasing your butterflies, careless of all else. But your time, too, must come”—and our heroine found herself almost sighing.
“But, Harry, my boy, listen to me. Mamma would rather you should not play out in this lane, and by this dirty puddle. See how dirty your hands, and face, and clothes all are; and it will give mamma a great deal of trouble to keep you clean if you do so.”
“But, mamma, I don’t care about being clean. I am sure it’s a great deal nicer to be dirty and play about this nice pond, than to be dressed up to go out and walk with Mrs. Harris, and Janey, and Maria, and the baby.”
“Yes, my dear, but you wont have Mrs. Harris and Janey to dress you, and keep you clean, and take you to walk any more.”
“Wont I? Oh, I’m so glad! Then I can run out here and get as dirty as I please—can’t I mamma?”
“I hope you will not—for you have nobody else now to wash you and keep you clean but mamma; and you don’t want to give her so much trouble, do you?”
“No, mamma; but I’m so glad you’re going to wash me, for you wont scrub so hard as Mrs. Harris did—she used to hurt so, sometimes.”
“I am afraid, my dear, I shall have to scrub a great deal harder than Mrs. Harris did, if you play out here and get so dirty.”