He does not know that all this time the Child is alive and kicking.

He is under the delusion that the Child is taking all this lying down.

We tell the Child it has got to be quiet, or else we will wring its neck.

The gentleman from Cambridge pictures the Child as from that moment a silent spirit moving voiceless towards the grave.
We catch the Child in the morning, and clean it up, and put a little satchel on its back, and pack it off to school; and the maiden lady Understander pictures that Child wasting the all too brief period of youth crowding itself up with knowledge.
My dear Madam, you take it from me that your tears are being wasted.

You wipe your eyes and cheer up.