n the look-out for possible causes of
panic. The grasshopper is banished to the garden and the Cheshire Cat
smiles all over her face. Peace restored, Dimples and the Owlet remember
a dead lizard they found in a corner of the verandah, and set off to
recover it. These two walk exactly like mechanical toys; and as they
strut along hand in hand, or one after the other, they look like
something wound up and going, in a Christmas shop window. Presently they
return with the lizard. Its tail is loose, and they sit down to pull it
off. This is not a nice game, and something else is suggested. Dimple's
mouth grows suddenly square; she wants that lizard's tail.

Then a dear little child called Muff (because she ought to be called
Huff if the name had not been already appropriated), who has been
solemnly munching a watch, decides it is time to demand more individual
attention. She objects to the presence of another baby on her Sittie's
lap. Why should two babies share one lap? The thing is self-evidently
wrong. One lap, one baby, should be the rule in all properly conducted
nurseries. Muff broods over this in silence, then slides off the crowded
lap and sits down disconsolate, alone. Tears come, big sad tears, as
Muff meditates; and it takes time to explain matters and comfort,
without giving in to the one-lap-one-baby theory.

[Illustration: TUBBING.]

We have several helpful babies. Dimples has been discovered paying
required attentions to things smaller than herself; and the Wax Doll
pats the Rosebud if she thinks it will reassure her, when (as rarely
happens) that pet of the family is left stranded on a mat. But Puck is
the most inventive. It was one happy Sunday morning that we came upon
her feeding the Ratlet on her own account. The Ratlet was making
ungrateful remarks; and we hurried across to her and saw that Puck,
under the impression doubtless that any hole would do, was pouring the
milk in a steady stream down the poor infant's nose. Puck smiled up
peacefully. She was sure we would be pleased with her. But the Ratlet
continued eloquent for very many minutes.

Sometimes (but this is an old story now) our difficulties were increased
by the Spider's habit of whimpering, which had a depressing effect upon
the family. This poor baby was a weak little bag of bones when first she
came to us. The bag was made of shrivelled skin of a dusty brown colour.
Her hair was the colour of her skin, and hung about her head like
tatter