. . .But I have to bow to the fact that I no longer possess one, since Poppsy announced her preference, the other day, for a doll “with real livings in it.” She begins to show as fixed an aversion to baby-talk as that entertained by old Doctor Johnson himself, and no longer yearns to “do yidin on the team-tars,” as she used to express it. The word “birthday” is still “birfday” with her, and “water” is still “wagger,” but she now religiously eschews all such reiterative diminutives as “roundy-poundy” and “Poppsy-Woppsy” and “beddy-bed.” She has even learned, after much effort, to convert her earlier “keam of feet” into the more legitimate and mature “cream of wheat.” And now that she has a better mastery of the sibilants the charm has rather gone out of the claim, which I so laboriously taught her, that “Daddy is all feet,” meaning, . . . Read More