t a feeble folk, yet they make their houses in the
rocks." One day in deep depression of spirits the Coney arrived at the
kindergarten. She sat down before the threshold, which is three inches
high, and climbed carefully over it. She found herself in a new world,
where babies were doing wonderful things and enjoying all they did. The
Coney decided to join a class, and was offered beads to thread. Life
with beautiful beads to thread became worth living, and it may be in the
course of time that the tortoise will overtake the hare. In any case we
find much cheer in the conclusion of the verse, for if our Coney builds
in the Rock her being rather feeble will not matter very much.

Those who possess that friend of our youth, _Alice_, as illustrated by
Sir John Tenniel, may find the photograph twice reproduced of our fat
Cheshire Cat. This baby is remarkable for two things: she smiles and she
vanishes. The time to see the vanishing conducted with more celerity
than Alice ever saw it, is when the babies' warning call is sounded
across the verandah and a visitor appears in the too near horizon. This
baby then vanishes round the nearest corner. There is nothing left of
her, not even a smile. In fact, the chief contrast between her and the
cat among the foliage is that with our Cat the smile goes first.

Sunday morning, to return to the beginning, is full of possible
misadventure. Sometimes the babies seem to agree among themselves that
it would be well to be good. Then their admiring Sittie and Ammal have
nothing to do but enjoy them. But sometimes it is otherwise. First one
baby pulls her sister's hair, and the other retaliates, till the two get
entangled in each other's curls. Piria Sittie flies to the rescue,
disentangles the combatants and persuades them to make friends.
Meanwhile three restless spirits in bodies to match have crept out
through the open door (it is too hot if we shut the doors), and we find
them comfortably ensconced in forbidden places. The Beetle is a quiet
child. She retires to a corner and looks devout. Presently a sound as of
scraping draws our attention to her. "Beetle! Open your mouth!" Beetle
opens her mouth. It is packed with whitewash off the wall. Then a scared
cry rings through the nursery, and all the babies, imagining awful
things imminent, tumble one on top of the other in a wild rush into
refuge. It is only a large grasshopper which has startled the Cheshire
Cat, whose great eyes are always o