led, like the fluting pipe of a canary.

"Yes, sir," said she.

"My dear child," said the rector, "you know perfectly well that you have
no big sister--Solly." Every time the rector said Solly he swallowed
hard.

Content smiled as Sally had described her smiling. She said nothing.
The rector felt reproved and looked down upon from enormous heights of
innocence and childhood and the wisdom thereof. However, he persisted.

"Content," he said, "what did you mean by telling your aunt Sally what
you did?"

"I was talking with my big sister Solly," replied Content, with the
calmness of one stating a fundamental truth of nature.

The rector's face grew stern. "Content," he said, "look at me."

Content looked. Looking seemed to be the instinctive action which
distinguished her as an individual.

"Have you a big sister--Solly?" asked the rector. His face was stern,
but his voice faltered.

"Yes, sir."

"Then--tell me so."

"I have a big sister Solly," said Content. Now she spoke rather wearily,
although still sweetly, as if puzzled why she had been disturbed in
sleep to be asked such an obvious question.

"Where has she been all the time, that we have known nothing about her?"
demanded the rector.

Content smiled. However, she spoke. "Home," said she.

"When did she come here?"

"This morning."

"Where is she now?"

Content smiled and was silent. The rector cast a helpless look at his
wife. He now did not care if she did see that he was completely at a
loss. How could a great, robust man and a clergyman be harsh to a tender
little girl child in a pink-andwhite nest of innocent dreams?

Sally pitied him. She spoke more harshly than her husband. "Content
Adams," said she, "you know perfectly well that you have no big sister
Solly. Now tell me the truth. Tell me you have no big sister Solly."

"I have a big sister Solly," said Content.

"Come, Edward," said Sally. "There is no use in staying and talking
to this obstinate little girl any longer." Then she spoke to Content.
"Before you go to sleep," said she, "you must say your prayers, if you
have not already done so."

"I have said my prayers," replied Content, and her blue eyes were full
of horrified astonishment at the suspicion.

"Then," said Sally, "you had better say them over and add something.
Pray that you may always tell the truth."

"Yes, ma'am," said Content, in her little canary pipe.

The rector and his wife went out. Sally switched off