faithfully to your baby brother's breakfast needs. The Baby was
particularly lively that morning. He not only wriggled his body through
the bar of his high chair, and hung by his head, choking and purple, but
he seized a tablespoon with desperate suddenness, hit Cyril heavily on
the head with it, and then cried because it was taken away from him. He
put his fat fist in his bread-and-milk, and demanded "nam," which was
only allowed for tea. He sang, he put his feet on the table--he
clamoured to "go walky." The conversation was something like this--

"Look here--about that Sand-fairy---- Look out!--he'll have the milk
over."

Milk removed to a safe distance.

"Yes--about that Fairy---- No, Lamb dear, give Panther the narky poon."

Then Cyril tried. "Nothing we've had yet has turned out---- He nearly
had the mustard that time!"

"I wonder whether we'd better wish---- Hullo!--you've done it now, my
boy!" And in a flash of glass and pink baby-paws, the bowl of golden
carp in the middle of the table rolled on its side and poured a flood of
mixed water and gold-fish into the Baby's lap and into the laps of the
others.

Everyone was almost as much upset as the gold-fish; the Lamb only
remaining calm. When the pool on the floor had been mopped up, and the
leaping, gasping gold-fish had been collected and put back in the water,
the Baby was taken away to be entirely re-dressed by Martha, and most of
the others had to change completely. The pinafores and jackets that had