three years old. But I could, couldn't I?"

"I'm afraid I don't think you could," Aunt Charlotte said.

"Why not? Catty _won't_ say why."

Aunt Charlotte shook her head, but she was smiling and looking wiser and
more solemn than ever. "You mustn't ask too many questions," she said.

"But you haven't told me what being born is. I know it's got something to
do with the Virgin Mary."

Aunt Charlotte said, "Sh-sh-sh! You mustn't say that. Nice little girls
don't think about those things."

Her tilted eyes had turned down and her mouth had stopped smiling. So you
knew that being born was not frightening. It had something to do with the
things you didn't talk about.

And ye--how could it? There was the Virgin Mary.

"Aunt Charlotte, don't you _wish_ you had a baby?"

Aunt Charlotte looked frightened, suddenly, and began to cry.

"You mustn't say it, Mary, you mustn't say it. Don't tell them you said
it. They'll think I've been talking about the babies. The little babies.
Don't tell them. Promise me you won't tell."