CHAPTER V 
What People are Made of 
When you were a good deal smaller than you are now, 
and when instead of going to school you played at home 
in the nursery, perhaps your mother used to say over to 
you an old rhyme that my mother used to say to me. It 
was about what girls and boys are made of, and although 
I liked it very much, it used to make my baby brother 
quite cross. It went like this: 
My mother would say, 
“What are little girls made of, made of ?” 
And I would answer, 
“Sugar and spice and everything nice, 
That’s what little girls are made of!” 
Then somebody, usually one of us children, would ask 
my brother, 
“What are little boys made of, made of?” 
He wouldn’t answer at first, but after awhile we would 
tease him into shouting, all in one breath, 
“Snips-and-snails-and-puppy-dogs’-tails, 
That's what little boys are made of!” 
When my brother grew up, he went to the Medical 
School and learned to be a doctor, a student of the human 
body. It takes ten years of study before they call you a 
doctor, and do you know, I often think that my brother 
