We will make them say their prayers. Between ourselves,
Veronica, I don't believe they always do. And no reading in bed, and
no final glass of whisky toddy, or any nonsense of that sort. An
Abernethy biscuit and perhaps if they are good a jujube, and then
'Good night,' and down with their head on the pillow. And no calling
out, and no pretending they have got a pain in their tummy and
creeping downstairs in their night-shirts and clamouring for brandy.
We will be up to all their tricks."
"And they'll have to take their medicine," Veronica remembered.
"The slightest suggestion of sulkiness, the first intimation that
they are not enjoying themselves, will mean cod liver oil in a
tablespoon, Veronica."
"And we will ask them why they never use their commonsense," chirped
Veronica.
"That will be our trouble, Veronica; that they won't have any sense
of any sort--not what we shall deem sense. But, nevertheless, we
will be just. We will always give them a reason why they have got to
do everything they don't want to do, and nothing that they want to
do. They won't understand it and they won't agree that it is a
reason; but they will keep that to themselves, if they are wise."
"And of course they must not argue," Veronica insisted.
"If they answer back, Veronica, that will show they are cursed with
an argumentative temperament which must be rooted out at any cost," I
agreed; "and if they don't say anything, that will prove them
possessed of a surly disposition which must be checked at once,
before it develops into a vice.
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