profession was spent in "minding" the younger children--an occupation in
which I delighted. They all had very pretty hair, and I used to wash it
and comb it out until it looked as fine and bright as floss silk.

It is argued now that stage life is bad for a young child, and children
are not allowed by law to go on the stage until they are ten years
old--quite a mature age in my young days! I cannot discuss the whole
question here, and must content myself with saying that during my three
years at the Princess's I was a very strong, happy, and healthy child. I
was never out of the bill except during the run of "A Midsummer Night's
Dream," when, through an unfortunate accident, I broke my toe. I was
playing Puck, my second part on any stage, and had come up through a
trap at the end of the last act to give the final speech. My sister Kate
was playing Titania that night as understudy to Carlotta Leclercq. Up I
came--but not quite up, for the man shut the trapdoor too soon and
caught my toe. I screamed. Kate rushed to me and banged her foot on the
stage, but the man only closed the trap tighter, mistaking the signal.

"Oh, Katie! Katie!" I cried. "Oh, Nelly! Nelly!" said poor Kate
helplessly. Then Mrs. Kean came rushing on and made them open the trap
and release my poor foot.

"Finish the play, dear," she whispered excitedly, "and I'll double your
salary!" There was Kate holding me up on one side and Mrs. Kean on the
other. Well, I did finish the play in a fashion. The text ran something
like this--

"If we shadows have offended (Oh, Katie, Katie!)
Think but this, and all is mended, (Oh, my toe!)
That you have but slumbered here,