During these two months most
actors take their holiday, but when we were with the Keans we were not
in a position to afford such a luxury. Kate and I were earning good
salaries for our age,[1] but the family at home was increasing in size,
and my mother was careful not to let us think that there never could be
any rainy days. I am bound to say that I left questions of thrift, and
what we could afford and what we couldn't entirely to my parents. I
received sixpence a week pocket-money, with which I was more than
content for many years. Poor we may have been at this time, but, owing
to my mother's diligent care and cleverness, we always looked nice and
neat. One of the few early dissipations I can remember was a Christmas
party in Half Moon Street, where our white muslin dresses were equal to
any present. But more love and toil and pride than money had gone to
make them. I have a very clear vision of coming home late from the
theater to our home in Stanhope Street, Regent's Park, and seeing my
dear mother stitching at those pretty frocks by the light of one candle.
It was no uncommon thing to find her sewing at that time, but if she was
tired, she never showed it. She was always bright and tender. With the
callousness of childhood, I scarcely realized the devotion and ceaseless
care that she bestowed on us, and her untiring efforts to bring us up as
beautifully as she could.
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