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Updated: June 13, 2025
By way of an apologue for the aged, when they feel more than usually tempted to offer their advice, let me recommend the following little tale. He was thirteen; already he had been taunted for dallying over-long about the playbox; he had to blush if he was found among his lead soldiers; the shades of the prison-house were closing about him with a vengeance.
I'll go and fetch it!" "Will you?" cried Porter, half relieved. "Where is it, then?" "Why, in my playbox to be sure; where should it be?" "It isn't in your playbox, I know," put in Siggers: "because I saw it turned out yesterday and there was no rabbit then. Besides, how could a rabbit live in a playbox? He's telling lies. I can see it by his face. He hasn't any rabbit!"
By way of an apologue for the aged, when they feel more than usually tempted to offer their advice, let me recommend the following little tale. He was thirteen; already he had been taunted for dallying overlong about the playbox; he had to blush if he was found among his lead soldiers; the shades of the prison-house were closing about him with a vengeance.
Mr. Bultitude found a key which was labelled "playbox," and began to open a box which bore Dick's initials cut upon the lid; without any apprehensions, however, for he had given too strict orders to his daughter, to fear that any luxuries would be concealed there. But no sooner had he raised the lid than he staggered back with disgust.
The larger villas self-conscious types all reeking with plaster and false decorations set him shivering. He turned into his own street and his heart sank. Something had indeed touched his eyes and he saw new and terrible things. The row of houses looked as though they had come out of a child's playbox. They were all untrue, shoddy, uninviting.
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