"As if they would! Fancy liking to be always changing your clothes, and having to keep them clean![17] Why, they tease me about it, and offer to take away my toys!" "Take away your toys!" "Just as if I were really the child of rich parents, and they had to be _charitable_ to me!" "But don't you like having toys of your own, Mollie?" "Not too many of them. Think of the rich little children whose nurses make them play with hundreds of dolls, when they only want to play with one! and are always telling them how sad the doll-makers would be if they saw them crying at having to play with the dolls they had taken such pains to make!" She said this in imitation of a nurse's rebuke, of which she had evidently had experience. "But I'm sure little girls like to have something of their very own," I said. "And they like new toys sometimes." "Perhaps they may when they are very young. But they soon get tired of it when they know what it means. Why, Cynthia,[18] my cousin, once said that she would like to be rich, and have as many toys as she wanted, and her mother simply filled the house with expensive toys, and she had to play with them all. By the time she had worn them out she was jolly glad to get back to her old wooden doll, which she could dress just as she liked, and always take to bed with her. She was very careful not to say anything more about wanting to be rich after that." So that was the system! Children were shown the satiety that comes from wealth, and taught early to shun it. "It's such a bore having to be charitable," Mollie went on to confide in me. "When I go visiting with mother I always have to bring home something that some rich child or other has got tired of. Still, if it pleases them----! Oh, look! I've got a bite!" But it was only a nibble. I tried again. "Have you got a pony?" I asked. "Yes; he's a dapple-grey; his name is Bobby. I will show him to you." "Thank you. I like looking at ponies. I suppose your cousins haven't got ponies to ride." "They can ride in butchers' and bakers' carts. That's much more fun. Besides, they have ponies in the parks for poor children. "Of course I love Bobby," she went on, as I digested this piece of information. "But it is rather hard not to be allowed to ride the park ponies, or to go and play in the parks at all, just because you have a garden and a pony of your own." "Oh, you are not allowed to go into the parks?"[19] "Not unless I go to tea with somebody. I do wish mother and father would leave off pretending to be rich." "Then you would have to leave this pretty house and garden and go and live in a street." "I should like that. There would be lots of other girls and boys to play with. I say, what time is it?" When I looked at my watch and told her it was ten minutes past five, she jumped up in consternation, and exclaimed: "Oh, come along quickly. I didn't know it was five yet."