And your
mother tries to look harshly at little Nelly for putting on her
grandmother's best bonnet; but Nelly's laughing eyes forbid it utterly;
and the mother spoils all her scolding with a perfect shower of kisses.
After this you go, marching very stately, into the nursery, and utterly
amaze the old nurse; and make a deal of wonderment for the staring,
half-frightened baby, who drops his rattle, and makes a bob at you as if
he would jump into your waistcoat-pocket.
But you grow tired of this; you tire even of the swing, and of the
pranks of Charlie; and you glide away into a corner with an old,
dog's-eared copy of "Robinson Crusoe." And you grow heart and soul into
the story, until you tremble for the poor fellow with his guns behind
the palisade; and are yourself half dead with fright when you peep
cautiously over the hill with your glass, and see the cannibals at their
orgies around the fire.
Yet, after all, you think the old fellow must have had a capital time
with a whole island to himself; and you think you would like such a time
yourself, if only Nelly and Charlie could be there with you. But this
thought does not come till afterward; for the time you are nothing but
Crusoe; you are living in his cave with Poll the parrot, and are looking
out for your goats and man Friday.
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