involuntary admiration; "what are you doing?" You said that you were going
to make an affghan, and that the morning was so enchanting you could not
bear the thought of touching your mending, but were going to luxuriate in
the worsteds. Some time passed in sorting the colors, and deciding on the
contrasts, and I forgot all about the doll. Not so little Blue Eyes. I
remembered afterward how patiently she stood still, waiting and waiting
for a gap between our words, that she need not break the law against
interrupting, with her eager--

"Please, mamma, let me have my wax dolly to play with this morning! I'll
sit right here on the floor, by you and auntie, and not hurt her one bit.
Oh, please do, mamma!"

You mean always to be a very kind mother, and you spoke as gently and
lovingly as it is possible to speak when you replied:--

"Oh, Pussy, mamma is too busy to get it; she can't get up now. You can
play with your blocks, and with your other dollies, just as well; that's a
good little girl."

Probably, if Blue Eyes had gone on imploring, you would have laid your
worsteds down, and given her the dolly; for you love her dearly, and never
mean to make her unhappy. But neither you nor I were prepared for what
followed.

"You're a naughty, ugly, hateful mamma! You never let me do _any_ thing,
and I wish you were dead!" with such a burst of screaming and tears that
we were both frightened. You looked, as well you might, heart-broken at
such words from your only child. You took her away; and when you came
back, you cried, and said you had whipped her severely, and you did not