She
told me I had always been a good boy, and that she was sorry that I
was going; but I did not dare to embrace her.
And then there was dear Louisa, the matron of the little sanatorium
on the Mortlake road. She had been a former housemaid of ours; she
was a strong sturdy woman, with a deep voice like a man, and when I
arrived there ill--I was often ill in those days--she used to hug
and kiss me and even cry over me; and the happiest days I spent at
school were in that poky little house, reading in Louisa's little
parlour, while she prepared some special dish as a treat for my
supper; or sitting hour by hour at the window of my room upstairs,
watching a grocer opposite set out his window. I certainly did love
Louisa with all my heart; and it was almost pleasant to be ill, to
be welcomed by her and petted and made much of. "My own dear boy,"
she used to say, and it was music in my ears.
I feel on looking back that, if I had children of my own, I should
study very carefully to avoid any sort of terrorism. Psychologists
tell us that the nervous shocks of early years are the things that
leave indelible marks throughout life.
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