You would suppose that the little mother must have been utterly lost,
bewildered, trodden down in this horde of urchins; but you are mistaken.
Mrs. Wilner was a positively majestic little person. She ruled her brood
with the utmost coolness and strictness. She had even the biggest boy
under her thumb, frequently under her palm. If they enjoyed the wildest
freedom outdoors, indoors the young Wilners lived by the clock. And so
at five o'clock in the evening, on seven days in the week, my father's
partner's children could be seen in two long rows around the supper
table. You could tell them apart on this occasion, because they all had
their faces washed. And this is the time to count them: there are twelve
little Wilners at table.
I managed to retain my identity in this multitude somehow, and while I
was very much impressed with their numbers, I even dared to pick and
choose my friends among the Wilners. One or two of the smaller boys I
liked best of all, for a game of hide-and-seek or a frolic on the beach.
We played in the water like ducks, never taking the trouble to get dry.
One day I waded out with one of the boys, to see which of us dared go
farthest. The tide was extremely low, and we had not wet our knees when
we began to look back to see if familiar objects were still in sight. I
thought we had been wading for hours, and still the water was so shallow
and quiet. My companion was marching straight ahead, so I did the same.
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