When he crept close to his friend he was caught up into a
soft, rosy comfort, was conscious of nothing except ease and rest. Here
there were knobs and hard little buttons, and at first his head was
pressed against a cold, slippery surface that hurt. Nevertheless, the
pressure was pleasant and comforting. A warm hand stroked his hair. He
liked it, jerked his head up, and hit his new friend's chin.
"Oh, damn!" he heard quite clearly. This was a new sound to Ernest
Henry; but just now he was interested in sounds, and had learnt lately
quite a number. This was a soft, pleasant, easy sound. He liked it.
And so, with it echoing in his head, his curly head against his father's
shoulder, the bump glistening in the candle-light, the beasts defeated
and derided, he tumbled into sleep.
IV
A pleasant sight at breakfast was Ernest Henry, with his yellow curls
gleaming from his bath, his bib tied firmly under his determined chin,
his fat fingers clutching a large spoon, his body barricaded into a high
chair, his heels swinging and kicking and swinging again. Very fine,
too, was the nursery on a sunny morning--the fire crackling, the roses
on the brown carpet as lively as though they were real, and the whole
place glittering, glowing with size and cleanliness and vigour.
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