The water, with
the nasty chill off, is put ready for them; they wash their little
hands and faces, all by themselves! Then they are shaved and have
their hair done; their little hands are manicured, their little corns
cut for them. When they are neat and clean, they toddle into
breakfast; they are shown into their little chairs, their little
napkins handed to them; the nice food that is so good for them is put
upon their little plates; the drink is poured out for them into their
cups. If they want to play, there is the day nursery. They have
only to tell kind nurse what game it is they fancy. The toys are at
once brought out. The little gun is put into their hand; the little
horse is dragged forth from its corner, their little feet carefully
placed in the stirrups. The little ball and bat is taken from its
box.
Or they will take the air, as the wise doctor has ordered. The
little carriage will be ready in five minutes; the nice warm cloak is
buttoned round them, the footstool placed beneath their feet, the
cushion at their back.
The day is done. The games have been played; the toys have been
taken from their tired hands, put back into the cupboard. The food
that is so good for them, that makes them strong little men and
women, has all been eaten. They have been dressed for going out into
the pretty Park, undressed and dressed again for going out to tea
with the little boys and girls next door; undressed and dressed again
for the party.
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