“Well, I never,” she exclaimed, “the idea! Who took him up? Now then, master, you just come with me and get dressed, and we’ll go off and get a mouthful of fresh air,” and out would come the rickety bonnet with the draught, and the Virginia Ham shawl, and off they went to harden themselves in a biting east wind. Tom told me afterwards that they met half a dozen women, all of whom went into the grossest personal details about his anatomy, his weight, and what he ate. The men tactfully avoided him, for which he thanked them. Those who had sons of their own knew about the bonnet and were sorry, whilst those who had not just saw him as a sort of egg, and put off his acquaintance until he should be in a fit state to be recognised. Anne was quite different even as a baby. She humped her back and made faces at the ladies. Soon she and I combined to protect Tom in his encounters with the female sex. We exposed their folly and duplicity in a shameless way for fear lest they should take possession of his heart with their forged certificates of high-mindedness. That our claims to integrity were no better was not to the point. We, at least, loved him and should only mislead him for his good. Tom, like the rest of his sex, was disposed to respect the authority against which he battled so long as he believed in it. He often said, “Yes, nurse,” quite respectfully, until Anne came. She soon settled that. “You go and ask nurse if she loves you,” she said, “it’s all rot her saying the sweets are eaten up, they’re in her drawer.” Of course Tom came back with a handful of chocolates to divide between himself and Anne, having left another illusion behind him. We had great difficulty at first with nurses. Personally I cannot bear the popsy-wopsy nurse who is so popular with good mothers. When I was interviewing nurses for Tom, I brought him into the room and left him to decide. He soon weeded out the sheep from the goats. If the woman exclaimed “Bless him! where is he?” I caught Tom’s eye, and we said we were so sorry but we were already in treaty with some one whom we thought would be suitable. We dismissed dozens in that way for the same fault. I have been in other people’s nurseries, and seen children huddled and poked and blessed and poppeted into their clothes, marched off giggling, and brought back pouncing, their words overridden by ejaculations and clatter. Their upbringing reminds me of the comic pudding in the pantomime that is tossed up and beaten down, rolled in a dish with the cat, and thrown at the policeman, all to the accompaniment of a blaring orchestra and incessant conversation. I chose my present nurse on account of her opening remark to Tom. “Come here, boy,” she said, and Tom went, and has remained ever since.