as I looked upon them, young and middle-aged and old, I said
to myself in the language of the preacher: 'All go unto one place; all
are of the dust, and all turn to dust again.'--Ecclesiastes iii. 20,
ma'am."

I got up and went into the garden, and filled my nostrils with the
fragrance which earth was sending to heaven--as it were--and felt
better.

Whit Monday was a hard day for me. After dinner my Easter experiences
were repeated, and sitters came thick and fast. I really believe my
work is giving satisfaction, for some of my last holiday customers had
sent their friends to be "taken"; and some called themselves to say
"How d'ye do?"

Nothing eventful transpired, however, and no Cynic turned up to disturb
the serenity of my temper with sarcastic observations upon women, so I
climbed the hill at the back of the house and joined the merry throng
of school-children who were having a jolly time with their elders in a
field at the top. And there I forgot my tiredness, and romped for a
couple of hours with the wildest of them, having as much of the kitten
in me as most folk.

When the red had finally died out of the western sky the dustman came
round, and the eyes of the little ones grew heavy. But the grown-ups
were enjoying themselves far too much to think of leaving so soon, so I
gathered the infants around me and told them all the wonderful stories
which had been locked away in the dusty cabinets of my memory. Not the
ordinary nursery tales, which are as well known in Windyridge as in
Westminster, but some of the simpler records of Greek mythology, and
extracts from the lives of the saints.

Little Lucy came and laid her head upon my shoulder and asked if it was
all true. I tried to show her the truth that was hidden in the
make-believe, but I fear with small success. Her eyelids were held
open with difficulty as she continued to question me.

"Is comets true?"

"Comets?" I inquired; "what do you know of comets?" (One is about due
now, and the children are on the tip-toe of excitement.)

"Dada says they has long tails, an' runs up an' down the sky when I'se
asleep, like little mouseys."

"You are not afraid of them, are you?" I asked.

"Dunno. I think I is afraid of them, but I always asks God."

"What do you say?" I ventured.

The little head was growing heavier, and it was a very sleepy voice
that murmured:

"God bless ev'ybody ... an' don't let them be 'ungry, so they won't die
... until Y