ellers have become more precise in their turn. They are no
longer content with the old indefinite, "There was a king," but assume
instead a look of profound learning, and begin: "Once there was a king
named Ajatasatru,"

The modern reader's curiosity, however, is not so easily satisfied. He
blinks at the author through his scientific spectacles, and asks again:
"Which Ajatasatru?"

"Every schoolboy knows," the author proceeds, "that there were three
Ajatasatrus. The first was born in the twentieth century B.C., and died
at the tender age of two years and eight months, I deeply regret that it
is impossible to find, from any trustworthy source, a detailed account
of his reign. The second Ajatasatru is better known to historians. If
you refer to the new Encyclopedia of History...."

By this time the modern reader's suspicions are dissolved. He feels he
may safely trust his author. He says to himself: "Now we shall have a
story that is both improving and instructive."

Ah! how we all love to be deluded! We have a secret dread of being
thought ignorant. And we end by being ignorant after all, only we have
done it in a long and roundabout way.

There is an English proverb; "Ask me no questions, and I will tell you
no lies." The boy of seven who is listening to a fairy story understands
that perfectly well; he withholds his questions, while the story is
being told. So the pure and beautiful falsehood of it all remains naked
and innocent as a babe; transparent as truth itself; limpid as afresh
bubbling spring. But the ponderous and learned lie of our moderns has
to keep its true character draped and veiled. And if there is discovered
anywhere the least little peep-hole of deception, the reader turns away
with a prudish disgust, and the author is discredited.

When we were young, we understood all sweet things; and we could detect
the sweets of a fairy story by an unerring science of our own. We never
cared for such useless things as knowledge. We only cared for truth. And
our unsophisticated little hearts knew well where the Crystal Palace of
Truth lay and how to reach it. But to-day we are expected to write pages
of facts, while the truth is simply this:

"There was a king."

I remember vividly that evening in Calcutta when the fairy story began.
The rain and the storm had been incessant. The whole of the city was
flooded. The water was knee-deep in our lane. I had a straining hope,
which was almost a certainty, that