She was there to answer questions, to issue commands, to
forbid. She had the key to various cupboards--to the cupboard with
pretty cups and jam and sugar, to the cupboard with ugly things that
tasted horrible, things that he resisted by instinct long before they
arrived under his nose. She also had certain sounds, of which she made
invariable use on all occasions. One was, "Now, Master Ernest!" Another:
"Mind-what-you're-about-now!" And, at his "Wash dat!" always
"Oh-bother-the-boy!" She was large and square to look upon, very often
pins were in her mouth, and the slippers that she wore within doors
often clipclapped upon the carpet. But she was not a person; she had
nothing to do with his progress.
The person who had to do with it was, of course, his father. That night
when his friend had left him had been, indeed, a crisis, because it was
on that night that his father had come to him. It was not that he had
not been aware of his father before, but he had been aware of him only
as he had been aware of light and heat and food. Now it had become a
definite wonder as to whether this new friend had been sent to take the
place of the old one.
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