The Spirit of Contradiction finds a place in most nurseries, though to a
very varying degree in different ones. Children snap and snarl by
nature, like young puppies; and most of us can remember taking part in
some such spirited dialogues as the following:--
"I will." "You daren't."
"You can't." "I dare."
"You shall." "I'll tell Mamma."
"I won't." "I don't care if you do."
It is the part of wise parents to repress these squibs and crackers of
juvenile contention, and to enforce that slowly-learned lesson, that in
this world one must often "pass over" and "put up with" things in other
people, being oneself by no means perfect. Also that it is a kindness,
and almost a duty, to let people think and say and do things in their
own way occasionally.
But even if Mr and Mrs Skratdj had ever thought of teaching all this
to their children, it must be confessed that the lesson would not have
come with a good grace from either of them, since they snapped and
snarled between themselves as much or more than their children in the
nursery.
The two eldest were the leaders in the nursery squabbles. Between
these, a boy and a girl, a ceaseless war of words was waged from morning
to night. And as neither of them lacked ready wit, and both were in
constant practice, the art of snapping was cultivated by them to the
highest pitch.
It began at breakfast, if not sooner.
"You've taken my chair."
"It's not your chair."
"You know it's the one I like, and it was in my place."
"How do you know it was in your place?"
"Never mind. I do know."
"No, you don't."
"Yes, I do."
"Suppose I say it was in my place."
"You can't, for it wasn't."
"I can, if I like."
"Well, was it?"
"I sha'n't tell you."
"Ah! that shews it wasn't."
"No, it doesn't."
"Yes, it does."
Etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.
The direction of their daily walks was a fruitful subject of difference
of opinion.
"Let's go on the Common to-day, Nurse."
"Oh, don't let's go there; we're always going on the Common."
"I'm sure we're not. We've not been there for ever so long."
"Oh, what a story! We were there on Wednesday. Let's go down Gipsey
Lane. We never go down Gipsey Lane."
"Why, we're always going down Gipsey Lane. And there's nothing to see
there."
"I don't care. I won't go on the Common, and I shall go and get Papa to
say we're to go down Gipsey Lane. I can run faster than you."
"That's very sneaking; but I don't care."
"Papa! Papa! Polly's called me a sneak."
"No, I didn't, Papa."
"You did."
"No, I didn't. I only said it was sneaking of you to say you'd run
faster than me, and get Papa to say we were to go down Gipsey Lane."
"Then you did call him sneaking," said Mr Skratdj. "And you're a very
naughty ill-mannered little girl. You're getting very troublesome,
Polly, and I shall have to send you to school, where you'll be kept in
order. Go where your brother wishes at once."
For Polly and her brother had reached an age when it was convenient, if
possible, to throw the blame of all nursery differences on Polly. In
families where domestic discipline is rather fractious than firm, there
comes a stage when the girls almost invariably go to the wall, because
they will stand snubbing, and the boys will not. Domestic authority,
like some other powers, is apt to be magnified on the weaker class.
But Mr Skratdj would not always listen even to Harry.
"If you don't give it me back directly, I'll tell about your eating the
two magnum-bonums in the kitchen garden on Sunday," said Master Harry on
one occasion.
"Tell-tale tit!
Your tongue shall be slit,
And every dog in the town shall have a little bit,"
quoted his sister.
"Ah! You've called me a tell-tale. Now I'll go and tell Papa. You got
into a fine scrape for calling me names the other day."
"Go, then! I don't care."
"You wouldn't like me to go, I know."
"You daren't. That's what it is."
"I dare."
"Then why don't you?"
"Oh, I am going; but you'll see what will be the end of it."
Polly, however, had her own reasons for remaining stolid, and Harry
started. But when he reached the landing he paused. Mr Skratdj had
especially announced that morning that he did not wish to be disturbed,
and though he was a favourite, Harry had no desire to invade the
dining-room at this crisis. So he returned to the nursery, and said
with a magnanimous air, "I don't want to get you into a scrape, Polly.
If you'll beg my pardon I won't go."
"I'm sure I sha'n't," said Polly, who was equally well informed as to
the position of affairs at head-quarters. "Go, if you dare."
"I won't if you want me not," said Harry, discreetly waiving the
question of apologies.
"But I'd rather you went," said the obdurate Polly. "You're always
telling tales. Go and tell now, if you're not afraid."
So Harry went. But at the bottom of the stairs he lingered again, and
was meditating how to return with most credit to his dignity, when
Polly's face appeared through the banisters, and Polly's sharp tongue
goaded him on.
"Ah! I see you. You're stopping. You daren't go."
"I dare," said Harry; and at last he went.
As he turned the handle of the door, Mr Skratdj turned round.
"Please, Papa--" Harry began.
"Get away with you!" cried Mr Skratdj. "Didn't I tell you I was not to
be disturbed this morning? What an extraor--"
But Harry had shut the door, and withdrawn precipitately.
Once outside, he returned to the nursery with dignified steps, and an
air of apparent satisfaction, saying,--
"You're to give me the bricks, please."
"Who says so?"
"Why, who should say so? Where have I been, pray?"
"I don't know, and I don't care."
"I've been to Papa. There!"
"Did he say I was to give up the bricks?"
"I've told you."
"No, you've not."
"I sha'n't tell you any more."
"Then I'll go to Papa and ask."
"Go by all means."
"I won't if you'll tell me truly."
"I sha'n't tell you anything. Go and ask, if you dare," said Harry,
only too glad to have the tables turned.
Polly's expedition met with the same fate, and she attempted to cover
her retreat in a similar manner.
"Ah! you didn't tell."
"I don't believe you asked Papa."
"Don't you? Very well!"
"Well, did you?"
"Never mind."
Etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.
Meanwhile Mr Skratdj scolded Mrs Skratdj for not keeping the children
in better order. And Mrs Skratdj said it was quite impossible to do
so, when Mr Skratdj spoilt Harry as he did, and weakened her (Mrs
Skratdj's) authority by constant interference.
Difference of sex gave point to many of these nursery squabbles, as it
so often does to domestic broils.
"Boys never will do what they're asked," Polly would complain.
"Girls ask such unreasonable things," was Harry's retort.
"Not half so unreasonable as the things you ask."
"Ah! that's a different thing! Women have got to do what men tell them,
whether it's reasonable or not."
"No, they've not!" said Polly. "At least, that's only husbands and
wives."
"All women are inferior animals," said Harry.
"Try ordering Mamma to do what you want, and see!" said Polly.
"Men have got to give orders, and women have to obey," said Harry,
falling back on the general principle, "And when I get a wife, I'll take
care I make her do what I tell her. But you'll have to obey your
husband when you get one."
"I won't have a husband, and then I can do as I like."
"Oh, won't you? You'll try to get one, I know. Girls always want to be
married."
"I'm sure I don't know why," said Polly; "they must have had enough of
men if they have brothers."
And so they went on, _ad infinitum_, with ceaseless arguments that
proved nothing and convinced nobody, and a continual stream of
contradiction that just fell short of downright quarrelling.
Indeed, there was a kind of snapping even less near to a dispute than in
the cases just mentioned. The little Skratdjs, like some other
children, were under the unfortunate delusion that it sounds clever to
hear little boys and girls snap each other up with smart sayings, and
old and rather vulgar play upon words, such as:
"I'll give you a Christmas box. Which ear will you have it on?"
"I won't stand it."
"Pray take a chair."
"You shall have it to-morrow."
"To-morrow never comes."
And so if a visitor kindly began to talk to one of the children, another
was sure to draw near and "take up" all the first child's answers, with
smart comments, and catches that sounded as silly as they were tiresome
and impertinent.
And ill-mannered as this was, Mr and Mrs Skratdj never put a stop to
it. Indeed, it was only a caricature of what they did themselves. But
they often said, "We can't think how it is the children are always
squabbling!"
------------------------------------------------------------------------