jumped upon, and said, "Ve felee belairs."

Here I fared no better: my version of the story was so hopelessly
wrong, and I received such crushing correction at the hands of
Sara, that I was glad to relinquish my office of story-teller and
suggested that she should tell a story instead.

This was evidently what she had wanted to do all along, for she
began at once. She tells a story very much as she says her
prayers, at the same terrific pace certainly. First of all she
swallowed and took a deep breath, then she began, "Vunce there was
a vitty blush -- and not a bad nasty blush -- it said its palayers
ebery morning an nannie said good girly an then the blush
vent to sleep in a vitty bed with Yaya."

"Go slower, darling," I said. "Aunt Woggles can't quite
understand."

"Yan -- ven -- Yaya -- voke up ve vitty -- belush said, 'Good-
morning,' yan Yaya said, 'Good-morning,' yan it was a nice bunny
yan not a nasty bunny any more."

Here Sara's thoughts were distracted, and the story ended abruptly
for want of breath, or possibly of story. She refused to go on,
and when pressed said with great decision, "Dey's all dead."

She then had her share of camel-rides and bears, and by the time
Nannie came I began to feel that I had earned my breakfast. I was
one of the first down, and Bindon was evidently waiting for me,
because as I went into the dining-room he took up his position