My own story . thesight of Mathildes plate so shocked darlingTia, that he forgot his usual good manners,and exclaimed in distressed tones: LookMamma, Aunt Mathilde has taken all thestrawberries, see what a mess she is making! I tried to silence this observant enfant terrible,but suddenly my father-in-law, who was ratherdeaf, said, Eh? What? Whats Tia saying? Of course, I dared not repeat what he hadactually said, and it was all I could do to preventMathilde from boxing her nephews ears. The children were constantly with me in thecountry; I washed and dressed them, played withthem, taught them
My own story . thesight of Mathildes plate so shocked darlingTia, that he forgot his usual good manners,and exclaimed in distressed tones: LookMamma, Aunt Mathilde has taken all thestrawberries, see what a mess she is making! I tried to silence this observant enfant terrible,but suddenly my father-in-law, who was ratherdeaf, said, Eh? What? Whats Tia saying? Of course, I dared not repeat what he hadactually said, and it was all I could do to preventMathilde from boxing her nephews ears. The children were constantly with me in thecountry; I washed and dressed them, played withthem, taught them their simple little prayers, andif they were ill I never left them day or were my pride and my dearest possessions,and they repaid aU my devotion by growingup beautiful, healthy children, who were bothnatural and obedient. I always allowed theirindividualities to develop freely because I wasdetermined that they should have a chance ofbecoming broad-minded, and, in future days,captains of their -~^-^—-^--^ ^•**^-^=~^^™^-^^^^ -^^ —--^^?•-^ Photo by James Aurig. MY YOUNGEST SON: PRINCE ERNEST-HENRY OF SAXONY (ERNI) 167 MY OWN STORY 169 I never see a fruit-laden cherry-tree withoutthinking of those bygone summers when thechildren and I used to go into the orchard topick the cherries. I climbed a ladder and threwdown the scarlet fruit to the dear little expectanthands. Oh, happy days spent with my lovedones, vanished now for ever! The summeralways has regrets for me; the smell of the hay,the scent of roses, the long, drowsy days and thewarm, still nights, all stab me with the mem-ories which I shall carry with me to the grave. Our country life was spent almost entirelyout of doors; we played tennis, rode and drove,and picnicked in the hayfields; and I alwayscut the flowers for the table and arranged themmyself. The children and I dusted the booksand bric-d-brac together, and it was the prettiestsight imaginable to watch the tiny boys tryingto imitate Mam
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Keywords: ., bookcentury1900, bookdecade1910, bookpublishernewyorkandlondongp
