"Then I'll punish myself by not kissing you for a week to come."
"Oh, no, no, mother! please give me one kiss now." Mother refused, and Bob, a dauntless little rogue, jumped up behind her chair, encircled her neck with his arms, and kissed her chin, cheeks, and forehead, leaving an impress of molasses wherever his lips touched. There was a general shout round the table at Bob's victory. Lucy quietly handed Mrs. Lovett a wet napkin; the stains were effaced, and the breakfast being over, the family proceeded to the business of the day. Mrs. Lovett had an energy and steadfastness in the pursuit of her children's improvement, that, if we did not every day see new and strange combinations in individual character, would have seemed incompatible with the habits of general indulgence we have depicted. A portion of her power was undoubtedly wasted; but her imperfections were accompanied by such perfect disinterestedness and generosity, that all sense of the infirmity was lost in love and gratitude.
"Bring your book, John," she said, "and let me be sure you have learned your lesson. You were all agog about the skating last night. Lucy, just hear Sam in Colbum. Oh, never mind! if you are getting Charlie's breakfast—that's right, dear—keep the sausage hot for him, but you need not spread that clean napkin over the cloth—Charlie is used to taking it as he can get it."
"He never finds fault, Mrs. Lovett, but he likes it nice. Dinah don't mind washing a napkin more for him—she says Charlie's clothes wash easy."[1]
- ↑ It is a common superstition among that much-enduring class
