confidence fails you at the crucial moment, and
memory plays the part of traitor in some
particular, if, in short, you blunder on a
detail of the story, NEVER ADMIT IT. If it was
an unimportant detail which you misstated,
pass right on, accepting whatever you said,
and continuing with it; if you have been so
unfortunate as to omit a fact which was a
necessary link in the chain, put it in, later,
as skillfully as you can, and with as
deceptive an appearance of its being in the
intended order; but never take the children
behind the scenes, and let them hear
the creaking of your mental machinery.
You must be infallible. You must be in
the secret of the mystery, and admit your
audience on somewhat unequal terms;
they should have no creeping doubts as
to your complete initiation into the secrets
of the happenings you relate.

Plainly, there can be lapses of memory
so complete, so all-embracing, that frank
failure is the only outcome, but these are
so few as not to need consideration, when
dealing with so simple material as that of
children's stories. There are times, too,
before an adult audience, when a speaker
can afford to let his hearers be amused with
him over a chance mistake. But with children