adn't,
but then Kenneth thought she had.

'It was _me_ took the ring,' said Alison, 'and I dropped it. I didn't
say I hadn't. I only said I'd rather not say. Oh Mother! poor Kenneth!'

The aunt, without a word, carried Kenneth up to the bath-room and turned
on the hot-water tap. The uncle and Ethel followed.

'Why didn't you own up, you sneak?' said Conrad to his sister with
withering scorn.

'Sneak,' echoed the stout George.

'I meant to. I was only getting steam up,' sobbed Alison. 'I didn't
know. Mother only told us she wasn't pleased with Ken, and so he wasn't
to go to the picnic. Oh! what shall I do? What shall I do?'

'Sneak!' said her brothers in chorus, and left her to her tears of shame
and remorse.

It was Kenneth who next day begged every one to forgive and forget. And
as it was _his_ day--rather like a birthday, you know--when no one could
refuse him anything, all agreed that the whole affair should be buried
in oblivion. Every one was tremendously kind, the aunt more so than any
one. But Alison's eyes were still red when in the afternoon they all
went fishing once more. And before Kenneth's hook had been two minutes
in the water there was a bite, a very big fish, the uncle had to be
called from his study to land it.

'Here's a magnificent fellow,' said the uncle. 'Not an ounce less than
two pounds, Ken. I'll have it stuffed for you.'

And he held out the fish and Kenneth found himself face to face with the
Doyen Carp. There was no mistaking that mouth that opened like a
kit-bag, and shut in a sneer like a rhinoceros's. Its eye was most
reproachful.

'Oh! no,' cried Kenneth, 'you helped me back and I'll help you back,'
and he caught the Carp from the hands of the uncle and flung it out in
the moat.

'Your head's not quite right yet, my boy,' said the uncle kindly.
'Hadn't you better go in and lie down a bit?'

But Alison understood, for he had told her the whole story. He had told
her that morning before breakfast while she was still in deep disgrace;
to cheer her up, he said. And, most disappointingly, it made her cry
more than ever.

'Your poor little fins,' she had said, 'and having your feet tied up in
your tail. And it was all my fault.'

'I liked it,' Kenneth had said with earnest politeness, 'it was a most
awful lark.' And he quite meant what he said.

XII

THE MAGICIAN'S HEART

We all have our weaknesses. Mine is mulberries. Yours, perhaps, motor
cars. Professor Taykin