MY LUCKY DAY / A Gypsys Lucky Basket - A Day to Remember. 

“Buy a basket, lady," said the gipsy at the door, and then, without waiting to take breath, “You've a lucky face, lady, there's good luck comin to you, lady, you'll never want nor grieve, lady." 

"Good luck?" I laughed. "I could do with it.” 

“It’s coming to you, lady. Buy a basket and the gipsy's luck will come to you today …  Look at him, lady.” I turned. It was David, peeping round my skirts. "Look at the head of him, lady. He's the clever one. He's the one will bring you wealth one day, lady. Good luck will come through him." 

I did not want a basket, but, clever old rascal, she knew no mother could resist her if she prophesied a glorious future for her small son. So I bought one and we decided it should be used as a mending basket to hold the ragged objects which are all David leaves of his clothes. Of course, that meant a certain amount of re~arranging in the course of which I left my work~basket for one moment on the floor. There was a thump and a rattle, and David was off down the passage, joyously kicking before him all the “cocker-weels" in which he delights. A rapid chase and I had caught him, but it is always a mystery to me that cottons can got so amazingly entangled in a moment of time. My lucky day had begun -and a lucky day it was. 

There are days on which a demon of mischief seems to get into a child and this was one of them. Drawers were opened, and their contents upset, cupboards ransacked, the house seemed to resound with the crys ‘David, what are you doing?” to which he always replied honestly and in tones of intense cheerfulness:"Sprinkling Mummy's powder", or “Throwing Mummy's hats about.” 

I tried to keep him busy, getting him to help shell peas. and fetch and carry while I worked, but it was no good. The usual cry brought the non-concorned answer "Puttin' peas in milkie", and, eventually: "Makin' a horrible mess" which was no exaggerations.!

We went for a walk, and did a little. shopping, but when I left him in his pram outside a shop for a few minutes, I returned to find him with an opened parcel, displaying to an amused audience :"New stockings what Mummy bought." 

It was with a sigh of relief that I saw him tucked into bed, but, alas it was one of those evenings when the sandman is off duty. Time after time I peeped: in to find a hopelessly divarranged cot, and a beaming child who announced : "David ‘s ‘blanket on floors" or "Pillow gone!" As the evening grew late, it turned into a war of "Not comfy", and, tucking him