, and Jane brought in the
tea things.

Patty made tea very prettily, for she excelled in domestic accomplishments,
and as she handed Kenneth his cup, she said, roguishly, "There's a perfect
cup of tea, I can assure you."

"Perfect tea, all right," returned Ken, sipping it, "but a cup of tea
can't be a perfect thing, as it hasn't complete symmetry of form."

"What are you two talking about?" demanded Elise, who didn't want Ken and
Patty to have secrets from which she was excluded.

"Speaking of crystal balls," said Patty, "I'll show you one, Elise; a big
one, too! Get Darby and Juliet, won't you please, Ken?"

Kenneth obligingly brought the glass globe in from the dining-room, where
they had left the goldfish to be by themselves.

"How jolly!" cried Elise. "And what lovely goldfish! These are the real
Japanese ones, aren't they?"

"Yes," said Patty, smiling at Ken. "Being Japanese, they're perfect of
their kind. Make them stand on their tails and beg, Kenneth."

"Oh, will they do that?" said Elise.

"Only on Wednesdays and Saturdays," said Kenneth, gravely. "And on
Fridays they sing. To-day is their rest day."

"They look morbid," said Roger. "Shall I jolly them up a bit?"

"Let's give them tea," said Elise, tilting her spoon until a few drops
fell into the water.

"You'll make them nervous," warned Patty, "and Juliet is high-strung,
anyway."

Then Nan came in from her afternoon's round of calls, and then Mr.
Fairfield arrived, and they too were called upon to make friends with
Darby and Juliet.

"Goldfish always make me think of a story about Whistler," said Mr.
Fairfield. "It seems, Whistler once had a room in a house in Florence,
directly over a person who had some pet goldfish in a bowl. Every
pleasant day the bowl was set out on the balcony, which was exactly
beneath Whistler's balcony. For days he resisted the temptation to fish
for them with a bent pin and a string; but at last he succumbed to his
angling instincts, and caught them all. Then, remorseful at what he had
done, he fried them to a fine golden brown, and returned them to their
owner on a platter."

"Ugh!" cried Nan, "what a horrid story! Why do they always tack
unpleasant stories on poor old Whistler? Now, I know a lovely story about
a goldfish, which I will relate. It is said to be the composition of a
small Boston schoolchild.

"'Oh, Robin, lovely goldfish!
Who teached you how to fly?