Stella
must have withdrawn her fingers in time, for there was no sign of any
pinch or bruise upon them. However, she began to cry, while Michael
addressed to her the oration which for a long time he had wished to
utter.

"You are silly. You are a cry-baby. Fancy crying about nothing. I
wouldn't. Everybody doesn't want to hear your stupid piano-playing. Boys
at school think pianos are stupid. You always grumble about my humming.
You are a cry-baby.

What are little boys made of?
Sugar and spice and all that's nice,
That's what little boys are made of.
What are little girls made of?
Slugs and snails and puppy-dogs' tails,
Ugh! that's what little girls are made of."

"They're not," Stella screamed. "They're not!" Michael's perversion of
the original rhyme made her inarticulate with grief and rage. "They're
not, you naughty boy!"

Michael, contented with his victory, left Stella to herself and her
tears. As he hummed his way downstairs, he thought sensuously of the
imminent reconciliation, and in about ten minutes, having found some
barley-sugar buried against an empty day, Michael came back to Stella
with peace-offerings and words of comfort.

Miss Carthew arrived on the next morning and the nervous excitement of
waiting was lulled. Miss Carthew came through the rain of Valentine Day,
and Michael hugged himself with the thought of her taking off her
mackintosh and handing it to Gladys to be dried. With the removal of her
wet outdoor clothes, Miss Carthew seemed to come nearer to Michael and,
as they faced each other over the schoolroom table (for the day-nursery
in one moment had become the schoolroom), Michael felt that he could
bear not being grown up just for the pleasure of sitting opposite to his
new governess.

It was not so much by these lessons that Michael's outlook was widened
as by the conversations he enjoyed with Miss Carthew during their
afternoon walks. She told him, so far as she could, everything that he
desired to know. She never accused him of being old-fashioned or
inquisitive, and indeed as good as made him feel that the more questions
he asked the better she would like it. Miss Carthew had all the mental
and imaginative charm of the late Mrs. Frith in combination with an
outward attractiveness that made her more dearly beloved. Indeed Miss
Carthew had numberless pleasant qualities. If she promised anything, the
promise was always kept to the letter. If Michael did not know his
l