Lady Lisping and Others.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXXVII, Issue 19, 10 November 1906, Page 42

Lady Lisping and Others.

BY

E. J. RATU.

Nothing more nor less than a transient record of three extremely fascinating kids. “All ’board for Europe. Asia’n Africa! All ’bo o-ard!” The voice of Kenneth was shrill with excitement. One foot was on the seat of the Morris chair, so that be could swing aboard the minute the train started. The hurrying feet of the belated passenger—the only passenger— sounded in the hall, and. a second later, Irene, in one of her mother's skirts, entered the room breathlessly. “Wait! Wait!” she cried. ’’l niutht catch thith train.” “Step lively, madam," admonished the conductor. "Not that car; that’s the smoker.” “I’m huthling ath lively ’th I can.” said the passenger, picking up a train that trailed a yard behind her. “Which ith the Pullman?’’ “This one, ma’am." said the conductor. “The third car.” Irene seated herself luxuriously in a rocker, patted her skirt out smoothly, and, from somewhere in the folds of it. extracted a small gray kitten, which she placed upon her lap and began to cuddle fondly. “Let 'er go." shouted the conductor, holding up two fingers and then waving his arm. The signal produced no sign of animation in the locomotive, where the engineer sat like a statue in his rockingchair cab. The conductor swung down on the platform again and walked forward. r . “What’s the matter?” he demanded. “You don’t do it—right,” said Robert, from his seat in the cab. “You got to pull a string and it goes ‘ps-s-st,’ in the engine.” “There ain’t any string.” said the conductor simply. ’ ; - “Well, holler ‘p-s-st’ anyhow,” said the engineer. “When we get to Europe I’m going to be engineer." remarked the conductor as a parting #iot. as he walked back to the rear of the train. “Ps-sst!” he shouted. ’ • “Now; ’’what’s the matter?” he demanded. half a minute later, as the locomotive still remained inert. : ..“Holler it.good and loud.” said the engineer. “I didn’t hear it.” The conductor swallowed bis mortification and hissed it out vindictively. Like magic was its effect, for the locomotive became a thing of life, and. although the train was heavy and hard to start, by dint of bell-ringing and Whistle blowing and a prodigious amount of puffing on the part of the engineer, it finally got under way. As it gained momentum the locomotive rocked violently back and forward, rearing and bucking like a bronco, so that the engineer finally had to lay aside the. dinner-bell and use one hand to hold on with. The other he employed in keeping the whistle continually at his lips. “You don’t need to Whistle so much,’’ said the conductor at length. “You c’lect the tickets,” retorted th* engineer. “I got to keep cows and people off the track. Kenneth climbed dexterously over th* backs of two chairs that intervened between him and the Pullman, where th* lady sat. “Tickets.” he called sharply. - - “You should say ‘tieketh. pleat lie.” said the lady, with dignity, handing over ime of her mother’s visiting cards. “Where you going to?" asked the conductor. _ ... .. - _ “Athia’n Africa," ‘•They’re diff'rent stations.”, explained the conductor. “Anyhow, you can only go to Europe on one ticket. “Here’th another.” said the passenger. “Now how far can I go?” > “I’ll have to take that one for the cit, ma'am.” said the conductor remorselessly. “That’th not a cat/.’ exclaimed the lady. “That’th my little daughter, and she’tli only a year old and she lid’tli free.”, “You’ll hftye to get off . at, Europe." The conductor was inexorable. The passenger's lower lip trembled, while the kitten purred peacefully. . “I—l want to go to- Africa," said th* lady. “Pleathe let me eo to Africa. Kenny.’’ •.

“It’s-bo place for .ladies, ma’am,” said the conductor*’ ignoring the familiarity. “Or babies, either. . - Do you want to be eat up by a g’rilla!”' “No-o,” said the passenger hesitatingly. l“Not by a g’rilla.” - ■’Well, maybe something worse’ll eat you up if you don’t get off at Europe. Anyhow, I can only take you as far as Europe, ’cause then I’m going to oe engineer. - ’ • • •■Tunnel!” interrupted a voice from the locomotive. . “Merthy!” exclaimed the passenger. “Their goenth through the old tunnelch again. Daughter, shut your eyeth tight up.” But the kitten’s eyes were already shut, so the passenger had-nothing to do but shut her own. “You tell me when we get out of the tunnel."’ she added, “cauthe I don't want to mith the thenery.” - The tunnel was not long, but ’t was followed by so many others that the passenger complained bitterly about missing the view. “When Fra engineer I don't have so many tunnels,” said the conductor. “Tunnel!'’ called the engineer. The passenger’s eyes closed quickly and she exclaimed "merthy” again. At that moment the engineer glanced back and eaught the conductor with his eyes wide open. “Shut your eyes,” he commanded. ' “Yours ain’t shut,” retorted the conductor. "I'm the engineer.” said that person loftily. I can't shut ’em.” “Well. I'm the conductor. Only passengers shut their eyes.” It followed that the rebellion of the conductor was the martyrdom of the passenger; now there were twice as many tunnels. But the worm turned at last. In the middle of a brief stretch of open the passenger gathered up her skirts, signalled the conductor, tueked the kitten under her arm, and announced: “I’m going to get off.” “Can’t,” said the conductor. “There ain't any station here; it's the middle of the. ocean.” “I forgot that,”.faltered the passenger disconsolately, settling back in her seat. “Aren’t we motht to Europe now?” “Half way,” called the engineer, carefully surveying the ocean. . “Tunnel!” As they emergen into daylight again, Irene opened her eyes and surveyed the scenery. The most prominent object in the foreground was Aunt Emma, surveying the train with silent but eloquent disapproval. "Oh!” exclaimed the passenger involuntarily. whereupon the engineer also beheld Aunt Emma and the train came to a violent stop. -Yen children will wake the dead,” eaid the lady ill “the doorway. "Mr papa sayth you can't wake dead folkth,” returned Irene. "(Had I ain’t dead,” remarked the engineer. “I suppose this is playing?” said Aunt Emma. .with rising inflection. Aunt Emma was known by the young llewletts to be shockingly ignorant of games, so Kenneth reassured -er. “Yes’m. Aunt Emma.” he said. “It’s playing. It's a train of cars going to Europe, Asia'n Africa.” Mr. Hewlett's sister sighed. It was one of those resigned, hopeless sighs that the little llewletts had been listening to for five days. When Aunt Emma sighed they knew what to do : —sit quietly, and wait for the lecture. Since Mr. and Mrs. Hewlett had gone away for a brief vacation Aunt Emma had been in charge of the household. She had made many discoveries about the little Howletts; or, rather, she had confirmed suspicions concerning them. For a long time she had suspected that their upbringing was being conducted in a manner widely at variance with her own ideas—now she knew it. And with this full knowledge also went an authority which she had never before possessed. That it was her duty to exercise this authority, even though it might be brief. Aunt Emma never, for a moment doubted. The little llewletts lived in a riotous world of imagination, -through which they made weird ‘exciting journeys, 'ven to the uttermost frontier of that fanciful realm. Worst of all, they actually believed in the reality of it all. Of course, this was'Very bad for their little minds. Aunt Emma firmly believed, for the fantastic afid the unreal liad' no place in her scheme of the child life. Sne was a contender for'tiie sane anil 'the ■unple. “Making believe,” except-as ap-

plied to the simplest of things, she regarded as a form of falsehood. • -‘Actually,” she had protested to Mrs. Hewlett,- “these children seem to believe these things. Their minds are becoming distorted.” . - . . Airs. Hewlett always smiled sweetly and never argued. ~ -.“You won’t mind if I give them a fewlittle talks while you are away, I hope,” remarked Aunt Emma, as the llewletts said good-by. • , "Oh, not a bit,” said Mrs. Hewlett cheerfully. “Talk as much as you like, Emma,” said Air. Hewlett, winking at his wife.”

And Aunt Emma had talked. Patiently and conscientiously, for five days she had been trying to make the little Hewletts see the unreality and wild absurdity of what they called play. Equally patiently did the little llewletts listen and then go forth again to shatter the idol of simplicity. The signs that betokened a talk from Aunt Emma were not hard to read. So it came that when she interrupted the journey to Europe, Asia, and Africa they understood perfectly that a talk was at hand.

- “Children,” she began—that was always the beginning—“perhaps it is all right for you to play that you are on a railroad, though I had hoped you would find something more simple and more quiet. But playing railroad, I find, leads you to imagine impossible things. Always remember to keep within the bounds of the possible, preferably of the probable. Although you seem to believe it, this is not a real railroad upon which you are riding. Neither uo railroads run to Europe. In crossing the ocean ships are employed. And in playing tunnels, remember that they are but imaginary tunnels. I have been watching you, Irene, and I think you reatiybelieve you are in darkness when you close your eyes. Such is not the case; you are merely simulating darkness. Play engineer, if you must, Robert, but remember that you are oniy sitting in a roeking-ehair, after all. And you. Kenneth”—Aunt Emma never left anybody out —“should not try to make your sister believe that yon are in the middle, of an ocean. Trains do not run on the water.” “Well, we had a ship once,” said Kenneth, “but the boiler busted and we all fell overboard and got drowned and eat up by sharks. When you get drowned you have to crawl under a rug, and it’s too stuffy, so now we don’t get ..rowned any more.” “And the water wath awful thalt,” said Irene, “and 1 got thoaking wet.” “Anyhow,” added Kenneth, “there's only, one captain on. a ship, and on a train there's two.” -“Well,” sighed . Aunt Emma, “try to make your play as much like the realities of life as possible. ’ It wit. be just as pleasant as riding upon your purely imaginary railroad. ’ .When she had gone beyond hearing, Robert spoke. . "It was a real railroad.” he declared stoutly. "It had a whistle and passengers and an engine and everything.” "And there wath real tunnelth, ’eauthe it wath-dark.”- said Irene, “w-athn't it, putthy, dear?” But the gray kitten had escaped from the room in disgust. "And we were going to Europe,” sai l Kenneth, with finality, "but now 1 ain't going to play train any more. Let’s be robbers.” “I'm head robber,” shouted Robert, leaping from the locomotive. “No, me,” cried Kenneth. "I thought of it first. Anyhow, you’re always head robber.” - " ’ • — . ."Well, I'll be second robber,” said Robert. “Irene, you’re the traveller.” "I’m alwayth the traveller,” said Irene sadly. “Yotr don’t ever let me be even a little bit of a robber.” “Girls can’t be robbers.” said Robert, which settled it. “And besides, if you ain’t the lady traveller you won't get a chance to ery.” The last observation settled any doubt that may have remained in his sister’s mind, and the trio ran noisily through the hall and out upon tiie lawn, where a commotion arose that brought Aunt Emma to the porch in haste. Her niece was on her knees, getting beautiful grass stains on her stockings and weeping copiously, while her nephews, each holding a pigtai! of the child’s hair, stood over her, waving elubs and shouting terrifically. vi'liildrep!” eoreampd, Ai<nt Fguma, running don n the steps. -The clubs fell to the ground, the pigtails were released and Irene arose reluctantly from her kneca

"What in the world does this mess!’ said Aunt Emma. “Robberth,” said Irene, wiping away her tears. “Are you injured, child?” asked Aunt Emma anxiously. "No,” replied Kenneth, “she a : n ( hurt a bit. She's a rich lady being robbed and she always cries like that. That's part of being robbers. You ain't hurt, are you, Irene?” "No,” said the late rich lady. “You thee, Aunt Emma. I couldn’t get robued if 1 didn't ery. 1 alwuyth cry; it’th fun.” “What are those sticks for?” demanded Aunt Emma, pointing. “They’re guns; they ain’t sticks,” sai l Kenneth. "Robbers carry guns. We’re Spanish robbers •aad.wc cateh Irene in the mountains and tell her we’re going to shoot her dead, and then she. cries and gives us millions of dollars to let her go. And then we go off to the eave. Sometimes, when she don't give us enough, we take her to the eave. too. •and tie her up with chains and starve her and hold her for a ransom. We were taking her there to-day,” he concluded. Irene glanced reproachfully at her aunt, the interrupter of that delectable event. “Children, listen,” said Aunt Emma. The trio ranged themselves in a row. "Robert and Kenenth, you are not robbers at all; you are just little boys. If you wish to ph.iy, play something quiet and reasonable; something that does not pretend to be what it is not.” Tiie trio listened in silence and nodded at the conclusion, ami Aunt Emma retired to the house. “She’s spoiled that, too.' said Robert sullenly. • "We were real robbers,” said Kenneth, always champion of the world of-de-lightful adventure. “What'll we play now?” "Let’s us go down to the barn.” said Robert, "and be kings and queens ami emp’rors.” It was almost supper time when Aunt Emma again beheld her niece and nephews. -They came straggling to the house, hot and dirty, and evidently happy. .. “Go and get some .clean, things and wasli your hands and faces,” said Aunt Emma. "Supper will be ready as soon a« v ott are.” 'i,he little llewletts were quite presentable at the table, so far as their hands and faces -went, and their appetites were beyond reproach. “What were you doing all the afternoon?” inquired Aunt Emma pleasantly. The trio exchanged glances grimly. "We were down in the barn,” said Robert, finally. “Playing?” asked Aunt Emma. “Yes’m,” said Robert. "Playing what?” Robert hesitated, but decided to face it. "Kings und queens,” he said. Aunt Emma bit her lip :n annoyance. "Tell me about it,” she said. “I'll tell Aunt Emma,” said Irene. “Rob and Kenny were kingth. Kenny wath Henry the Eighth and Rob wath William the Conqueror and 1 wath Mary Queen of S'eofth. It’th a play. They bath wanted to marry me. but I wath going to marry the King of Rutthia. tiio Henry the Eighth cut off my head.” "How?” asked Aunt Emma. "I took her by the hair." exclaimed Robert, "and he! 1 her head on -a box and Henry the Eighth tied her bands behind her back and then he < lit oft' her head with an axe, and she. cried." Irene corroborated the recital by several, emphatic nods, murmuring ecstatically: "1 wath Mary Queen of Scot’tb.” • "An axe!" exclaimed Aunt Emma. Did yon play with an axe?” "It was really a stit-k,” said Kenneth, "but we pkiyed it was an axe. and I jn~t sawed it along the back of Irene’s neck, sflie erie i good, too: didn't yon. Irene?” "Yetlt," said Irene happily, "it ithn't nithe to have you head cut off. Aunt Emma. But it’th exthiting.” "She’s a fine erier,” added Robert, generously. "After that we were o-Jier kings and queens," continued Kenneth. “Rob ami me were emp'rors. fighting for a thron*>. and Irene was the damage;- empress. And when .she couldn't decide between Us she poiisoned us.” "Poisoned you?” repealed Aunt Emma, mystified. "With what?” "Pillth,” said Irene. “What-■sort of pills? Where iid you get them?”

’’Oh. -jiriiil Hi He pillth," sa'd Ufno, evasively. .. . ;' • "Where did yon gel those pill-*. Irene?’* Aunt En»n.u was -in earnest. “In the medilhin ehetht,” said Irene. “Merciful heavens!” sbwkel Auii< Emma, sitting back helplessly in her ehair. "It’s all right, Aunt Eiiuna,” said Kenneth soothingly. "Tliey're just plant white pills. Here's the bottle.” Aunt Emma grabbed at a small phi.il whi.dr Kenneth fished exit of his pocket and read the label. “How nr-.ny haie von taken?” she asked. “We each took two,” sail Robert, " ’cause the first ones d’dn’t poison us enntugb.” “We’ve taken ’em lot'lb of time’th,* added Irene. •• Aunt Emma rushed from the loom, ran upstairs ami the lithe llmvle’.ts liean.l the telephone ringing violently. "Doctor Williams says the pills will not injure you,” said Aunt Emmi, when she returned. She seemed to acknowledge it with regret. “But never i:.i;e do such a thing again. You might ’. -.vte killed yourselves.” “Why, they’re jntht teeny pillth. Aunt Emma,” protested Irene. “vitty eat iu 'em. too, am] they don’t '-rt her speck.” , . . “Now, observe what 1 say," sai l Aunt Emma, waving the pill-battle lor emphasis. "1 will not have lais sort of play. It is dangerous. 1 ir-,i-.t that -you shall play reasonable and stiira'vle games,” she said. “Hide and seek; puss in the corner; even tag, if you do not run too violently. There are lots of eiiifdren's games that I used to piny. Why don’t you play games like liial “They ain’t any fun,” said Kenneth. "Nobody gets killed in ’em.’ "Is it necessary that anybody should ■be killed?’ demanded Aunt Emma. "It's better,” said Robert, judicially. "Ajiyw-ay; Irene always peeks before site counts five-hundred.” ■ —"I only peek thometimc't!:,” deciare! Irene indignantly. “Tragedies are more fun,” said Kenneth. "We hung -Rob ixiee.” 1 s Robert confirmed the statement with a nod. "- "Ife hangth fine,” said Iren-.-. “We put tiie rope under hith -armlli and he can hang a'wfnl long.”

Aunt' Einirta', who was losing authority ami dignify in the dreenssiotr, ended it by sending the little Hewletts tb bod. They displayed singular willingness to go; in fact, they submitted to tiie banishment with’an'alacrity tirat’ was suspicious! “ '■'■ ! •

Half an hour after their reliieiitenf. Aunt Efniha’, avWwtis reading in quiet enjoyment, dropped, her book and exclaimed, “Oh, what now!” The exelamatibn was caused by a pattering.of fet-t' upstairs, accompanied by little squeals of altiiin. She rail up two flights cf stairs' softly. -M the head of the second flight, at the very edge of Hie top step, stood an oil.lamp, flaring high and smoking oiloToiisly. Aiiht Emma thrust it aside and dashed into tiie nursery, which she found brilliantly illuminated. Irene, dressed in her nightgown, was disappearing out of the window, uttering terrified shrieks. Robert and Kenneth, in pyjamas and bed slippers, were leaning out after her at an alarming angle.’ They drew in hastily as their aunt screamed, and let go of a rope that was. composed of knotted sheets. Immediately follqvycd a soft thump and another squeal from outside. Aunt Emma rushed to the window, and, by' a supreme effort of will, forced herself to look out, knowing full well that she -was about to view the crumpled and inanimate form ■ f her small niece, two stories below. What she >l.id see was a small figure on the roof of the porch, one storey b low,.in the act "of e.ranling in at a window, an! dragged the knotted rope after hei like the tail of.a great kite. As the end of the tail disappeared there was a sound of bare feet on the stairs, and Irene burst into the room, shouting: "There, r.-r'w I I told jon tlio. You dropped urn again, an.l yon promitbed not to.” Then she observed Aunt Emma, standing stern' and rigid, and subsided, with an awed “Ohl” “Are you injured, Irone?” said Aunt Emma. Her voice was tragic. "No, ma'am,” said Irene meekly. •> "Then -explain, please.” "1 wath living thaved from fir«-. tho I wouldn't get burned to piethet b." said Irene. , “It's n hotel fire. Aunt Emma." put in Robert. "Irene's a lady in a hotel

♦hut is binning tip. and she can't get down the stairs. So she hollers like anything for help, anti Kenney and I save tier. We make a rope of sheets and let .iter down, and then she eraw Is off the shed and rnus upstairs again, and ire rescue her all over. We wouldn’t have <li opped her, only you hollered, and it -tensed us so that »i- Jet go the rope.” For once Aunt Emma bad wisdom enough to realise that words were inadequate. The ethics of play were not io be discussed at such moments as these. ‘■(live me those sheets;” she said shortly. The life-line was cast loose from 'lrene's waist and handed over. “Mercy on us; they’re wringing wet,” Said Anne Emma. "They thoaked the knot th tho they wouldn’t untie," explained Irene. “It'tli thafer.” Aunt Emma threw the dripping tangle into a corner, went to the linen-closet end returned with an armful of fresh sheets. She re-inadc three tousled little beds in ominous silence, and then pointed to them. ‘‘Get in."’ she commanded. The little llewletts got in silently. ‘‘Now, don’t you dare gel out. of your beds again until morning. Do you understand?'' “Yes'm,” said the trio. “Who lighted all these lights, and what for?” asked Aunt Emma, surveying the scone of brilliance. Every gasjet was going at full head, and three oil lamps were giving their best assistance. "We lit ’em,” said Kenneth. “They're the lire. The one at the head of the /stairs is so she can't escape.” One by one Aunt Emma extinguished them. With her hand at the last gasjet, she took a final survey of the three beds, then plunged the room into darkness and went downstairs, without a good-night. "If you hadn't hollered so much,” Baid the voice of Robert, melancholy in the gloom, "you could have got rescued again.” "1 had to holler,” said Irene tearfully. ‘‘They aiwayth holler.” "Well, you didn’t need .to holler so loud." "I watli theared," remarked Irene, in B lone of satisfaction. "Irene.” said the voice of Kenneth Sternly, "there's a great big elephant in the room, and he's going to eat you up." "I 100-o-eee!" shrieked Irene softly, pulling her head under the covers. "Hang! Hang!” chorused the two heroes, from the safety of their couches. ‘‘There; lie's dead," said Robert. ‘‘You go to sleep, Irene, ami we will remain on guard.” "With it had been hittopotaniuth flight.” sighed Irene gratefully, settling herself contentedly on the pillow. As the last delicious peril of the day, the little Hewletts always slew a wild beast before going to sleep. It was never anything smaller than a buffalo, and the larger the better, because the more lieroie the deed. Now there was peace in the nursery. Bud the treacherous guard fell asleep almost as quickly as the imperiled lady. ’Apparently they were in slumber when ’Aunt Emma appeared at the door in the morning, although the suspicion that eternally lurked in her mind was at once aroused by the tfact that the pillows were not. on tho beds, but- were scattered in various rumpled attitudes on the floor. ■‘Children,” said Aunt Emma. The little llewletts awoke with suddenness. "Time to get up,” said Aunt Emma. She made no comment on the state of ilie pillows, though she was convinced that the day had already begun. Iler niece and nephews blinked at her inquiringly and said “Good morning” politely. Aunt Emma was almost ominously gracious. If she harboured any postponed views on hotel fires and hairbreadth escapes, she refrained from expressing them, and the little llewletts were astonished and somewhat apprehensive at this omission.

"I am going to ask you to play my games to-day,” said Aunt Emma, at the breakfast table. “Witt you?” 'the trio looked doubtful and exchanged glances. "( an’t we play ours?” asked Robert. “We don’t know yours.” . "I nfortunately, I do not like your games,” said Aunt Emma. “They are really not play nt all: they arc melodrama. Whoever invented them? Was it you, Robert?”

“We all invent ’em.” said Robert. “1 invented the robbers and wild animals, and Irene invented most of the king and queen games, but that’s ’cause she’s studied more history than us, Kenny invented the hotel fire, although 1 thought of the going out the window part of it. He wanted to carry her downstairs.” “I invented hothpital, too,” said Irene. “Hospital?” inquired Aunt Emma. “Yeth’m,” said Irene. “It’th where we cut off Kenny’th armth and legth, and I’nr the nurthe and Rob’th the doctor. It’th lotth of fun, Aunt Emma, and—and it don’t make any noithe.” “Shocking,” said Aunt Emma, with a shudder. “It is not the way I played when 1 was a child. My amusements were the simple games of childhood.” This was the second time Aunt Emma had adverted to the. days of her youth, and the little llewletts exchanged glances again, for only the day before they had unanimously agreed that their aunt had probably never played anything in all her life. “Do you think you could play my games to-day?” pursued Aunt Emma. “H-mm,” said Robert. “Are they nice?”

“Exthiting?” broke in Irene. “Nice, but not exciting,” said Aunt Emma. “They are interesting, quiet, and some of them are very instructive.” Whereupon Aunt Emma ran over her list, which included twenty questions, button-button, playing house, playing school, a variety of ring games, and several other pastimes of which the little llewletts had not' even heard. “I don’t think we’d like any of those,” said Robert bluntly, when the list was concluded. “We might play thchool,” suggested Irene timidly. “A very excellent idea, Irene,” said Aunt Emma, beaming upon her niece. “You will find it easy, quiet, and instructive. You may take turns being teacher. The pupils will get their books, and the teacher will ask questions from them, going over those parts that you have studied. It will be just like having an examination.” “We don’t like examinations,” said Kenneth sourly. “Irene, only said school because she knows her lessons better than us.” “Yon should follow her example,” said Aunt Emma, with another glance of approval upon her niece. “I’m going to be teacher firtht,” said Irene. “Ladieth are aiwayth teacherth.” “There; 1 told you so, Aunt Emma,” said Kenneth.

"Well, we’ll try it, anyhow,” said Robert graciously. “If you want to be teacher, Irene, you’ve got to get the books. You know where they are.” Irene made haste to obey, and school was organised on the side porch, under the supervision of Aunt Emma. When she left it and went inside to look after the morning woik it was spelling earnestly' and conscientiously. But spelling became tiresome. None of the children cared for arithmetic; it was too hard. Reading, on the other hand, was too easy, although Robert found some enjoyment in its opportunities for rhetorical effect. Finally it was Kenneth who suggested: “Please, teacher, may we have history now ?” Could they have history! They certainly could, for in the matter of history Irene, needed no books. To her it was the most delightful branch of learning. “Name thoinc of the kingth of Eng land,” she commanded. “William the Conqueror,” responded Robert promptly. “Name another,” continued the teacher. “Henry the iEightli.'* cried Kenneth. The (lass stirred uneasly. “Hum,” said the teacher thoughtfully. “Tell what he did.” “Chopped off Mary' Queen of Scots' head.’’ chorused the class. It is barely possible that it was a sleeping imp, just arousing, who asked the next question, although the word came from the lips of the teacher herself. It came softly, almost reluctantly: “How?” The class looked at each other, then at the teacher, upon whose face sat charming innocence, as she awaited the reply. “Like this,” cried Robert, jumping from his chair and making a lunge at his sister, who sniffed, slipped to her knees and laid her head on the seat of her chair. A ruthless hand grasped her pigtail’ and another one drew from

her limp fingers the ruler of authority. Kenneth bared h : s arm, Robert drew tire pigtails taunt, and Irene shivered and sobbed. Three times the. ruler descended on the back of the chair. “There; that’s done,” said Robert, r« leasing the hair. "Only it wasn’t a very good chop.”

"It was the beat 1 could do with this," said Kenneth, regard'ng the ruler with some contempt. “Anyhow, Irene didn’t cry hard enough.” “I can cry loth better in the tillable,” said Irene suggestively. “We promised to play here,” said Kenneth, with a sudden return of virtue. “Now I’m going to be teacher and we’ll have geography.” “Hithtory "th nitheth,” said Irene, with a sigh, as she got her geography and seated herself with the class.

“We’re on Europe,” said Kenneth. “Where's Europe?” “In the Eastern Hemisphere,” said Robert promptly. “What are the countries of Europe?” “England, Paris, Germany, and Russia,” suggested Robert. “Parith ithn’t a country; it’th a thity,” said Irene loftily. “Well, you name some of ’em, then,” retorted Robert. "Thpain,” said Irene, looking at the teacher. The teacher returned the look with a fixed stare, but hesitated. “What do they have in Spain?” he asked, after * pause. “Spaniards,” volunteered Robert. “What else?” “Population, wheat, coal, and iron,” added Robert. The teacher sighed and turned an inquiring eye upon his sister. “What else?” he repeated. Clearly, the question was a pointed one and required an answer. So Irene, transfixed by the pedagogical eye, said: “Robberth.” The teacher was on his feet in a bound. So was Robert, chagrined at his own dulness. Kenneth branished his ruler aloft, while his brother pickdil up a handy hammock-stick. Irene, who waited dutifully while these preparations were made, now shrieked and started to run, but was rudely grasped by the hair and detained. The robbery of the lady traveller was but half completed when Aunt Emma appeared upon the porch, summoned by the uproar. “Children!” she cried. “How dare you ?” The robbers, baulked of their booty, looked sheepish, while the lady traveller hastily dried her tears and scrambled off her knees. “Do you call this school?” demanded Aunt Emma. “Well, it was school,” explained Kenneth, “but we were having geography, about Spain, and I asked whit they had in Spa : n and Irene said ‘robbers.’ and then —well, we just couldn’t help it, Aunt Emma. But now we’ll have grammar.”

“No. you will not have grammar,” said Aunt Emma, dropping into a chair, limp from vexation. “You will turn grammar into a hotel fire, by some diabolical ingenuity, and I believe you would turn arithmetic into a railroad disaster and then oiler the most plausible explanation for it. Oh, you are hopeless; utterly hopeless. The little Hewletts regarded Aunt Emma respectfully. “We’re thorry,” said Irene ingratiatingly. “1 do not believe it,” said Aunt Emma sharply. “You are perfectly delighted. Please do not add hypocrisy to your misbehaviour.” During a period of embarrassed silence, the little llewletts not’ead, for the first time, that she held a letter in her hand. “It is humiliating.” said Aunt Emma, at length, “and 1 am not sure that it is not demoralising, but I am going to offer you a bribe to be good. 1 see no other way. You are so impossibly perverse that I can think of no other method of securing good conduct except to purchase it. Now," waving the letter, “if I tell you the nicest thing in the •world, will you be quiet and good for the rest of this day, and not play another one of your awful games?” The little Hewletts hesitated. Bartering away independence was a serious platter, not to be lightly decided. “It’s just for to-day, is it?” asked Roliert.

“I only ask it for to-day," said Aunt Emma, “but it ought to be forever.”

“And is it pretty niee?” aaked Kenneth. - . “Yes,” said Annt Emma, guardedly, and beginning to reflect upon the ethics of »ueh shameful bargaining, "Itlt it ath nithe ath playing hoth•pital?” asked Irene. “Irene,” said Aunt Einina sharply, “you dicker like a little Shylock. 1 believe you are the luost mercenary of the ini.” Still the trio hesitated. So significant were tlie looks they exchanged that Aunt Emma would not have been astonished if tliey had asked permission to retire for consultation. “Shall we promise?” asked Robert finally. “Go ahead,” said Kenneth hopelessly. Irene nodded her head. “We promise, Aunt Emma,” said Robert, “only we expect it to be very nice, of course.” “Well, then,” said Aunt Emma, “I have here a letter from your father and mother. They are coining home a day ahead of time. They will be here tonight.” “Whee-e-e-e!” shouted the little Hewletts, straightway falling to a threecornered wrestling match that threatened to overturn the porch chairs, including the one occupied by their outraged aunt. “Remember you promise!” called that lady warningly. “You are to lie qu'et and good.” In their ecstaey of joy the little Howletts had forgotten, and they abandoned the celebration with reluctance.

“We just had to holler like that,” said Kenneth. “I should think you’d holler, too, Aunt Emma.” “I think I shall when they are really here,” said Aunt Emma. “Now, was it nice enough?” “Yeth, indeedy,” said Irene, her eyes shining. “It’th the nithetht of all " “Wish they were here now,” said Robert. “To-night’s an awful long time.” It was a painful and uncanny goodness, that of the little Hewletts during the remainder of the forenoon and all the long summer afternoon. They kept the faith stoically, so that the heart of Aunt Emma was melted almost to the point of relenting; but she did not relent, for that would be weakness. Irene sat by herself mending dolls whose various parts had been severed by the surgeon’s knife, before the use of Kenneth as a patient had come into practice. Kenneth pored through his adventure books, looking for some story he did not already know by heart, and finding none. Robert wandered about the place disconsolately, not daring to approach either brother or sister, for he realised the weakness of flesh and the possib'lities of kindred spirits in propinquity. The bitterness of being quiet was in the hearts of all. “I hope it will do them good,” said Aunt Emma to herself, almost reconciled to bribery by the success of it. “And they will be nice and clean when their parents arrive.’’ As evening approached, the restlessness of the little Hewletts was apparent to the most casual observer. Irene made several journ-ys to look at the clock. Kenneth dropped his books and relapsed into a meditation so evidently unpleasant that he scowled at Roliert every time the latter crossed his vision. As for Robert, lie did not dare trust himself to play anything at all. But the treaty with Aunt, Emma was kept with honour. It was absolutely intact when the proposer of it appeared on tne porch, dressed to go Ik the station. “Oh, can we go?” cried Irene plaintively. i “There won’t be room,” said Aunt Emma. “Besides, children, I want you clean and tidy when you meet your father and mother. We will be back very soon,” she added, as Patrick drove a two seated rig up from the barn. The little Hewletts swallowed their disappointment gamely and watched Aunt. Emma and Patrick disappear down the road in the direction of the station- “ She might have taken uth,” said Irene, pouting. “Maybe we could walk a little « '.f down the road and meet ’em,” suggest ed Kenneth. “We will,” said Robert going inside for his hat. Ralf an hour later a carriage, containing four persons, approached the II'"-*' lett residence, the horse moving nt a cow

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