there was a great Bear, a little Bear, and a middle-sized Bear; and they
had gone out for a walk. Goldilocks went in, and she saw"--the little
girl is very still; she would not disturb that story by so much as a loud
breath; but presently the comb comes to a tangle, pulls,--and the little
girl begins to squirm. Instantly the voice becomes impressive, mysterious:
"she went up to the table, and there were _three plates of porridge_. She
tasted the first one"--the little girl swallows the breath she was going
to whimper with, and waits--"and it was too hot! She tasted the next one,
and _that_ was too hot. Then she tasted the little bit of a plate, and
that--was--just--right!"

How I remember the delightful sense of achievement which stole into the
little girl's veins when the voice behind her said "just right." I think
she always chuckled a little, and hugged her stomach. So the story
progressed, and the little girl got through her toilet without crying,
owing to the wonder-working voice and its marvellous adaptation of
climaxes to emergencies. Nine times out of ten, it was the story of _The
Three Bears_ she demanded when, with the appearance of brush and comb, the
voice asked, "Which story shall mother tell?"

It was a memory of the little girl in the pink room which made it easy for
me to understand some other children's preferences when I recently had
occasion to inquire about them. By asking many individual children which
story of all they had heard they liked best, by taking votes on the best
story of a series, after telling it, and by getting some obliging teachers
to put similar questions to their pupils, I found three prime favourites
common to a great many children of about the kindergarten age. They were
_The Three Bears_, _Three Little Pigs_, and _The Little Pig that wouldn't
go over the Stile_.