An excerpt:
Women are terribly vain. So are children, particularly children. One of them, at this very moment, is hammering upon my legs. She wants to know what I think of her new shoes. Candidly, I don`t think much of them. They lack symmetry and curve, and possess an indescribable appearance of lumpiness (I believe too, she`s put them on the wrong feet).
But I don`t say this. It`s not criticism but flattery that she wants....Nothing else would satisfy this self-opinionated cherub.
I tried the conscientous-friend dodge with her on one occassion, but it was not a success.
She had requested my judgement on her general conduct and behaviour, the exact case submitted being, `Wot oo tink of me? Oo peased wi` me?` And I had thought it a good opportunity to make a few salutary remarks on her late moral career, and said, `No, I am not pleased with you.` I recalled to her mind the events of that very morning, and I put it to her how she, as a Christian child, could expect a good and wise uncle to be satifsfied with the carryings on of an infant who, that very day, had roused the whole house at 5 am; had upset a water jug and tumbled downstairs after it at 7; had endeavoured to put the cat in the bath at 8 and had sat on her father`s hat at 9.35.
Was she grateful to me for my plain speaking? Did she ponder upon my words and determine to profit by them, and to lead, from that hour, a better and nobler life?
`No!` she howled. That done, she became abusive.
She said, `Oo naughty --- oo naughty, bad unkie -- oo bad man -- me tel Mar!`
And she did, too.