Full resolution (TIFF) - On this page / på denna sida - November 30
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whose little shirt scarcely reached to his middle.
He could not manage to be comfortable in the
general bed, and longed probably for the warm
mother’s bosom; and therefore continually crept
out of the former, and stole softly and resolutely,
in his Adamic innocence, into the circle of ladies,
who were sitting around the room talking or sewing
by lamp-light. Here he was snapped up by
his mother in his short shirt (much in the same way
as our dairy-maids snap up by their wings a chicken
which they will put into a pen, or into the pot)
and thus carried through the room back to his bed,
where he was thrust in, à la chicken, with a couple
of slaps upon that portion of his body which his
little shirt did not defend, and then covered in
with the quilt. In vain. He was soon seen again,
white and round, above the quilt, spite of the hands
of brothers and sisters, which let fall upon him a
shower of blows; higher and higher he rose, raised
himself on his hands and feet, and the next minute
my curly-headed Cupid stood on his two bare feet,
and walked in among the circle of ladies, lovely,
determined, and untroubled by the plague of
clothes, or by bashfulness. Here he was received
with a burst of laughter, to be snapped up
again by his mother, and again thrust under the
quilt with an extra whipping but too gentle to make
any very deep impression. Again the same scene
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