dialogues as the following:--
"I will." "You daren't."
"You can't." "I dare."
"You shall." "I'll tell Mamma."
"I won't." "I don't care if you do."
It is the part of wise parents to repress these squibs and crackers ofjuvenile contention, and to enforce that slowly-learned lesson, that inthis world one must often "pass over" and "put up with" things in otherpeople, being oneself by no means perfect. Also that it is a kindness,and almost a duty, to let people think and say and do things in theirown way occasionally.
But even if Mr and Mrs Skratdj had ever thought of teaching all thisto their children, it must be confessed that the lesson would not havecome with a good grace from either of them, since they snapped andsnarled between themselves as much or more than their children in thenursery.
The two eldest were the leaders in the nursery squabbles. Betweenthese, a boy and a girl, a ceaseless war of words was waged from morningto night. And as neither of them lacked ready wit, and both were inconstant practice, the art of snapping was cultivated by them to thehighest pitch.
It began at breakfast, if not sooner.
"You've taken my chair."
"It's not your chair."
"You know it's the one I like, and it was in my place."
"How do you know it was in your place?"
"Never mind. I do know."
"No, you don't."
"Yes, I do."
"Suppose I say it was in my place."
"You can't, for it wasn't."
"I can, if I like."
"Well, was it?"
"I sha'n't tell you."
"Ah! that shews it wasn't."
"No, it doesn't."
"Yes, it does."
Etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.
The direction of their daily walks was a fruitful subject of differenceof opinion.
"Let's go on the Common to-day, Nurse."
"Oh, don't let's go there; we're always going on the Common."
"I'm sure we're not. We've not been there for ever so long."
"Oh, what a story! We were there on Wednesday. Let's go down GipseyLane. We never go down Gipsey Lane."
"Why, we're always going down Gipsey Lane. And there's nothing to seethere."
"I don't care. I won't go on the Common, and I shall go and get Papa tosay we're to go down Gipsey Lane. I can run faster than you."
"That's very sneaking; but I don't care."
"Papa! Papa! Polly's called me a sneak."
"No, I didn't, Papa."
"You did."
"No, I didn't. I only said it was sneaking of you to say you'd runfaster than me, and get Papa to say we were to go down Gipsey Lane."
"Then you did call him sneaking," said Mr Skratdj. "And you're a verynaughty ill-mannered little girl. You're getting very troublesome,Polly, and I shall have to send you to school, where you'll be kept inorder. Go where your brother wishes at once."
For Polly and her brother had reached an age when it was convenient, ifpossible, to throw the blame of all nursery differences on Polly. Infamilies where domestic discipline is rather fractious than firm, therecomes a stage when the girls almost invariably go to the wall, becausethey will stand snubbing, and the boys will not. Domestic authority,like some other powers, is apt to be magnified on the weaker class.
But Mr Skratdj would not always listen even to Harry.
"If you don't give it me back directly, I'll tell about your eating thetwo magnum-bonums in the kitchen garden on Sunday," said Master Harry onone occasion.
"Tell-tale tit! Your tongue shall be slit, And every dog in the town shall have a little bit,"
quoted his sister.
"Ah! You've called me a tell-tale. Now I'll go and tell Papa. You gotinto a fine scrape for calling me names the other day."
"Go, then! I don't care."
"You wouldn't like me to go, I know."
"You daren't. That's what it is."
"I dare."
"Then why don't you?"
"Oh, I am going; but you'll see what will be the end of it."
Polly, however, had her own reasons for remaining stolid, and Harrystarted. But when he reached the landing he paused. Mr Skratdj hadespecially announced that morning that he did not wish to be disturbed,and though he was a favourite, Harry had no desire to invade thedining-room at this crisis. So he returned to the nursery, and saidwith a magnanimous air, "I don't want to get you into a scrape, Polly.If you'll beg my pardon I won't go."
"I'm sure I sha'n't," said Polly, who was equally well informed as tothe position of affairs at head-quarters. "Go, if you dare."
"I won't if you want me not," said Harry, discreetly waiving thequestion of apologies.
"But I'd rather you went," said the obdurate Polly. "You're alwaystelling tales. Go and tell now, if you're not afraid."
So Harry went. But at the bottom of the stairs he lingered again, andwas meditating how to return with most credit to his dignity, whenPolly's face appeared through the banisters, and Polly's sharp tonguegoaded him on.
"Ah! I see you. You're stopping. You daren't go."
"I dare," said Harry; and at last he went.
As he turned the handle of the door, Mr Skratdj turned round.
"Please, Papa--" Harry began.
"Get away with you!" cried Mr Skratdj. "Didn't I tell you I was not tobe disturbed this morning? What an extraor--"
But Harry had shut the door, and withdrawn precipitately.
Once outside, he returned to the nursery with dignified steps, and anair of apparent satisfaction, saying,--
"You're to give me the bricks, please."
"Who says so?"
"Why, who should say so? Where have I been, pray?"
"I don't know, and I don't care."
"I've been to Papa. There!"
"Did he say I was to give up the bricks?"
"I've told you."
"No, you've not."
"I sha'n't tell you any more."
"Then I'll go to Papa and ask."
"Go by all means."
"I won't if you'll tell me truly."
"I sha'n't tell you anything. Go and ask, if you dare," said Harry,only too glad to have the tables turned.
Polly's expedition met with the same fate, and she attempted to coverher retreat in a similar manner.
"Ah! you didn't tell."
"I don't believe you asked Papa."
"Don't you? Very well!"
"Well, did you?"
"Never mind."
Etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.
Meanwhile Mr Skratdj scolded Mrs Skratdj for not keeping the childrenin better order. And Mrs Skratdj said it was quite impossible to doso, when Mr Skratdj spoilt Harry as he did, and weakened her (MrsSkratdj's) authority by constant interference.
Difference of sex gave point to many of these nursery squabbles, as itso often does to domestic broils.
"Boys never will do what they're asked," Polly would complain.
"Girls ask such unreasonable things," was Harry's retort.
"Not half so unreasonable as the things you ask."
"Ah! that's a different thing! Women have got to do what men tell them,whether it's reasonable or not."
"No, they've not!" said Polly. "At least, that's only husbands andwives."
"All women are inferior animals," said Harry.
"Try ordering Mamma to do what you want, and see!" said Polly.
"Men have got to give orders, and women have to obey," said Harry,falling back on the general principle, "And when I get a wife, I'll takecare I make her do what I tell her. But you'll have to obey yourhusband when you get one."
"I won't have a husband, and then I can do as I like."
"Oh, won't you? You'll try to get one, I know. Girls always want to bemarried."
"I'm sure I don't know why," said Polly; "they must have had enough ofmen if they have brothers."
And so they went on, _ad infi
nitum_, with ceaseless arguments thatproved nothing and convinced nobody, and a continual stream ofcontradiction that just fell short of downright quarrelling.
Indeed, there was a kind of