Much has been said and written, and much more will be said and written, on the question of the poor and large families. We wrangle as to whether their numerous children are an improvidence and an insult to the community, or whether, on the contrary, the poorest class is the only class which, in that respect, does its duty to the nation. One thing is quite certain, and it is that it would be as unthinkable as impossible to bring compulsion to bear on the poor because they are poor. For those who deplore large families in the case of poor people, it must be a comfort to remember a fact which experience shews us, that as poverty decreases, and as the standard of comfort rises, so does the size of the family diminish. Should we be able to conquer the problem of poverty, we should automatically solve the problem of the excessively large family. CHAPTER XII MOTHERS’ DAYS In a previous chapter some description was given of the way in which the women arrange their work. It is the province of this chapter to describe in greater detail the “days” of several of the women—mounting up, as they do gradually from the day of the young mother of one baby to that of the worn woman of thirty-eight with eight children under thirteen. Washing-day was not considered fair by the mothers. They said, “You’d expeck ter be a bit done-like washin’-day;” so an ordinary day was chosen in every case. They anxiously explained that the time-table form in which the visitor took the day wasn’t fair either because, “You jest as likely as not get a bit be’ind if ’indered.” But the subject was so richly interesting, and led up to such absorbing anecdotes when left to the mothers’ taste in method, that the time-table form had to be used in self-protection by the visitor. The following is a specimen of a mother’s way of telling it: “Me young man ’as ter be up abart five. E’s a fair whale at sleep. If I didn’t wake ’im ’e’d be late all the days in the year: _I_ tell yer. E’ come ’ome abart six, ’n soon’s ’e’s ’ad ’is tea ’e’s that sleepy agen you’d ’ardly get a word off ’im.” Gently reminded here that it is her own day that is required, she continues: “Oh, me? Well, I tells yer I wakes ’im at five. I ’as ter give ’im a good thump, an’ ’e gets up quiet-like if ’e can; but ’e generly can’t, an’ then the kids begin talkin’, an’ I ’as a fair job ter keep ’em in bed. See that one with red ’air—’e’s a fair treat in the mornin’s,” etc. The first day given is that of a young mother aged twenty, with her first baby—a fat, round morsel who may be called well cared for after the initial disadvantage of living with its parents in one small and dismal room has been recognised. The young mother owns a large sewing-machine, of which she is intolerably proud. As Lambeth mothers’ days go, hers is a very easy one. 6.0.—Get up and light fire. 6.15.—Wake husband, who has to be off by seven; get his breakfast. 6.30.—Give him his breakfast, and while he eats it, nurse baby.