ABSTRACT
It is commonly supposed that all parents, except a few unnatural wretches, love their children. In theory, perhaps, they do, but in practice the love too often shows itself only in slaps and cross reproofs. Whatever the child does is wrong: he must not talk, he must not fidget, he must not roll down a grassy bank in the park. The only thing he may do without getting into trouble is to sit still and wish he were dead.
