you delightful aunty!"

"Oh you beautiful aunty! oh you delicious aunty!" echoed Molly. "Why
don't you say something too, Ralph?" she exclaimed, turning reproachfully
to her brother. "You like stories just as much as we do--you know you
do."

"But you and Sylvia have used up all the adjectives," said Ralph. "What
_can_ I call aunty, unless I say she's a very jolly fellow?"

"Reserve your raptures, my dears," said aunty, "'The proof of the
pudding's in the eating,' remember. Perhaps you may not care for my story
when you hear it. I am quite willing to wait for your thanks till you
have heard it."

"But any way, aunty dear, we'll thank you for having _tried_," said Molly
encouragingly. "I daresay it won't be _quite_ as nice as grandmother's.
You see you're so much younger, and then I don't think anybody _could_
tell stories like her, could they? But, grandmother dear," she went on,
"would you mind telling me one thing? When people write stories how do
they know all the things they tell? How do you know what poor Mr. Sawyer
said to himself when he was alone in his room that day? Did he ever tell
anybody? I know the story's true, because uncle Jack told it you himself,
only I can't make out how you got to know all those bits of it, like."

"What a goose you are, Molly!" exclaimed both Ralph and Sylvia. "How
could any stories ever be written if people went on about them like
that?"

But Molly's honest puzzled face made grandmother smile.

"I know how you mean, dear," she said, "I used to think like that myself.
No, I don't know _exactly_ the very words Mr. Sawyer said to himself,
but, judging from my knowledge of the whole story, I put myself, as it
were, in his place, and picture to myself what I would have said. I told
you I had altered it a little. When your uncle wrote it out it was all in
the first person, but not having been an eye-witness, as he was, it
seemed to me I could better give the _spirit_ of the story by putting it
into this form. Do you understand at all better, dear? When you have
heard the whole to the end you will do so, I think. All the part about
Carlo I had from his own lips."

"Thank you, grandmother dear. I think I understand," said Molly, and she
was philosophical enough to take no notice of the repeated whisper which
reached her ears alone. "Oh, you _are_ a goose!"

It was not till the next evening that grandmother went on with the second
part of her story.

"What do all those stars m