religiously away from parcels, and she got very pink when
I drew her attention to the very nobly one which was hers. Hugh stood
by, urging her to open it, and offering to help her; but this Betty
would not allow, and she opened it, her lips trembling with excitement.

"Is it for my very own?" she whispered.

"Absolutely for your very own, Betty," I answered.

"Oh!" said Betty. "Hugh, it's all for my very, very own; Aunt Woggles
says so; but you may play with it when you are very good."

This in Hugh's eyes seemed so remote a contingency as to be scarcely
worth consideration.

When the cooking-stove stood revealed in all its glory, Betty was silent
for a moment; then she said in a voice choked with emotion, "I shall
cook dinners for you, all for your very own self--nobody else."

My heart sank. "You will eat the things, won't you?" she asked, "if I
make proper things, just like real things?"

"Of course," I said. "Where's Sara?"

"She wouldn't have her face washed," said Betty, "so she's waiting till
she's good."

Poor Sara! A strict disciplinarian is Betty!

The regeneration of Sara was evidently a matter of moments only, for
the words were hardly out of Betty's mouth when Sara, in all her clean,
delicious dumpiness, appeared in the doorway. If there is one thing more
delicious than a grubby Sara, it is a clean Sara. Sara after gardening
is delicious, but Sara clean is assuredly the cleanest thing on God's
earth. I have never seen a child look so new, and so straight out of
tissue-paper, as Sara can look. She stared solemnly at her Aunt Woggles,
and then proceeded to walk away in the opposite direction, which was an
invitation on her part to me to follow and snatch her up in my arms. She
bore the hug stoically for a reasonable time, and then said, "Oo 'urt."

I realized, with the agony of remorse, that a very large aunt can by
means of a brooch inflict exquisite torture on a very small niece.

She wriggled herself free and began to rearrange her ruffled garments.
"Yaya's got noo soos," she announced; "ved vuns."

"No, blue, darling," I said.

"Ved," said Sara.

"No, sweetest, blue," I repeated in a somewhat professional but wholly
affectionate manner.

"Ved," said Sara with great decision; so I gave it up.

"Sara always thinks blue is red," said Betty; "don't you, darling?"

"No, boo," replied Sara; so the matter dropped.

"Oo's tummin' to see Yaya's toys," said Sara.

"Am I, darling? When?"

"