THE DAY OF CHAPTER I. THE BLUE BOTTLE. ARRY was having rather a lonely day, for his nurse had gone out for a holiday, and his Mamma was ill with the toothache; now this is a combination that throws a little boy a good deal on his own resources, and Harry's came to an end when he had sorted his box of letters, and read the rhymes and stories in his picturebook. He read so well that he was not even obliged to keep the book "this side up," as most people are, but when it came to the more serious business of looking at pictures, the book always righted itself in a moment, like a lifeboat. He thought he should have liked to go with his nurse, to play with her little brothers and sisters, the wonderfully good children that she used to tell him. about, who never inked their pinafores, or made mud. B pies when they had clean frocks on, and would not eat plum cake without first learning to spell the name of it. He wondered what toothache might be like, and why his teeth never ached; they would begin to do so if he ate sugar, nurse assured him, and as toothache is rather a grand and grown-up complaint, he had been careful not to lose any favourable chance of dipping into the sugarbasin, and though nothing had come of it yet, he went on trying, like a good and persevering little boy. Presently his Mamma came into the nursery, and told him to put on his hat and come with her to the chemist's, where she hoped to get something that would do her good; and as he was quite tired of staying indoors, he gladly put his little warm hand into hers, and trotted along by her side. They turned their backs on the garden and the meadow, that sloped away to a wood where Harry had once picked more flowers than he could count, and had seen the bright eyes of a squirrel peeping at him through the branches. They had to go into the village, away from the wood, past some very fine shops, especially one that was full of penny toys, pretty enough to make any one dream about them, after looking at them once. Harry asked his Mamma to let him stand at this window, and look at its wonders, while she went into the chemist's, for there was nothing very amusing in his shop, and the man had an unpleasant way of asking Harry if he would like a powder or a black draught, making him remember one very dreadful day in his life with a shudder of horror. And yet he thought that he should like to be a chemist himself, and make up shockingly nasty stuff for little boys, and see them take it, and tell them that it was to do them good, and that it was naughty of them to make faces at it. He had not looked at half the tin soldiers, or the wooden cows and horses, when his Mamma came out of the chemist's shop, carrying a small parcel, wrapped in white paper. When they reached home she told him that nurse had promised not to be away very long, and that she was sure he would play quietly and amuse himself, as she did not feel able to play with him, or to hear him say his lessons. Then she went into her own room, and as the blinds were down, and it looked dark and dull, Harry went into the nursery. He sat down on the floor, and read the story of Little Red Riding Hood in his usual way, that is to say, he looked at the pictures and told the story to himself, and then he tried to "adapt" it, which means to turn a dead story into a live one, by making it happen over again, instead of only reading that it happened once upon a time. He wanted some one to act Red Riding Hood, while he acted the wolf, which was his favourite part; but he managed pretty well by putting on a red opera cloak, and talking to a make-believe wolf, and putting on a fur jacket, and talking to a make-believe little girl. In this way he overcame all difficulties until he came to the last part of the story, where the wolf eats the grandmother, and then he had to give in and to own that he was conquered, a thing which happens to most of us once |