He looked at me in some little surprise.
“I thought he was crying for it,” he said, somewhat perplexed at this.
“Reggie must not cry for things after that fashion,” I returned, firmly, for I felt a serious principle was involved here. “He is only a baby, but he is very sensible, and knows he is naughty when he screams for a thing. I never give it to him until he is good.”
“Indeed,” a little dryly. “Well, he seems far off from goodness now. What do you mean by making all that noise, my boy?”
Reggie was in one of his passions, it was easy to see that; the toy would have been flung to the ground in his present mood; so without looking at his father or asking his permission, I resorted to my usual method, and laid him down screaming lustily in his little cot.
“There baby must stop until he is good,” I remarked, quietly, and I took my work and sat down at some little distance, while Mr. Morton watched us from the other room. I knew my plan always answered with Reggie, and the storm would soon be over.
In two or three minutes his screams ceased, and I heard a penitent “Gargle do;” then “Nur, nur.” I went to him directly, and in a moment he held out his arms to be lifted out of the cot.
“Is Reggie quite good?” I asked, as I kissed him.
“Ood, ood,” was the triumphant reply, and the next moment he was cuddling his lamb.
“I own your method is the best, nurse,” observed Mr. Morton, pleasantly. “My boy will not be spoiled, I see that. I confess I should have given him the toy directly he screamed for it; you showed greater wisdom than his father.”