attention-loving little one? If Willie is not sick--and perhaps even
if he is--he needs a great deal of letting alone. Why jeopardize your own
health in perpetuating these midnight seances with him, thus engendering
in him a habit that will grow into "nerves," and perhaps later into
shattered health or a weakened character? Better let him cry it out once
and for all! But you are mothers, and motherhood being a heaven-born
institution, there is supposed to be a maternal instinct that ever guides
you aright. This I have the hardihood to seriously question.

CHAPTER II.

THE PERVERSITY OF HIS CHILDHOOD.

When I became old enough to "take notice" of things, I was fairly deluged
with toys: Fuzzy dogs and cats; big, red, yellow and green balls; fancy
rattle-boxes, and various other things were used to stimulate my
perceptive faculties. All of which should be left to Mother Nature, who
ever does these things well in her own good time and way. I became so
accustomed to toys, having such an innumerable variety of them, that it
required something out of the ordinary to arouse my interest. The poetic
thought

"Pleased with a rattle, tickled with a toy,"

had little significance to me. I outgrew toys very early and became
precocious. Elderly ladies said I was "old for my age," whatever that may
mean, and that I was too smart to live. But I have always had a stubborn
way of disappointing those who love me best. This precocity was taken
advantage of by relatives and visitors to furnish them with amusement.
Many a time when some one dropped in I was called upon to be the
star-performer of the evening. I was compelled to appear whether I felt
like it or not. I was tickled in the ribs, because the folks liked to hear
my hearty laugh; and I was tossed in the air and stood on my head, because
it was thought that these things were as amusing to me as to my audience.
Whenever conversation lagged I was made the center of attraction and
compelled to assist in some new stunt. As I now look back on my infantile
career, I have little reason to question why I was nervous and spoiled as
I merged from infancy into childhood. I ought to be thankful that I
survived it all!

[Illustration: Nursing the baby.]

As I grew older I became peevish and morose. I was full of conceits, moods
and whims. This was not due to actual sickness, for all my functions were
normal and I was reasonably well nourished. One sort of play or pastime
soo