sweet,
and that as Junkie was her chief playmate, she was scarcely responsible
for her language.

"The stowy," continued Flo, "is all 'bout Doan of Ak, who was bu'nt by
some naughty men, long, long ago! D'you hear, Blackie? It would make
your hair stand on end--if you had any!"

Thereupon the little one set Blackie on a stool, propped her against the
wall, and gave her a fairly correct account of the death of the
unfortunate Joan of Arc, as related by Mrs Gordon that morning. She
wound up with the question,--"Now, what you think of _zat_, Blackie?"

As Blackie would not answer, Flo had to draw on her own bank of
imagination for further supplies of thought.

"Come," she cried, suddenly, with the eagerness of one whose cheque has
just been honoured; "let's play at Doan of Ak! You will be Doan, and I
will be the naughty men. I'll bu'n you! You mustn't squeal, or kick up
a wumpus, you know, but be dood."

Having made this stipulation, our little heroine placed the black martyr
on an old-fashioned straw-bottomed chair near the window, and getting
hold of a quantity of paper and some old cotton dresses, she piled the
whole round Blackie to represent faggots. This done, she stepped back
and surveyed her work as an artist might study a picture.

"You've dot your best muslin fock on, da'ling, an it'll be spoiled; but
I don't care for zat. Now, say your pays, Doan."

With this admonitory remark, Flo screwed up a piece of paper, went to
the fireplace, made a very long arm through the fender, and lighted it.
Next moment she applied the flame to the faggots, which blazed up with
surprising rapidity.

Stepping quickly back, the dear little child gazed at her work with
intense delight beaming from every feature.

"Now be dood, Blackie. Don't make a wumpus!" she said; and as she said
it, the flames caught the window curtains and went up with a flare that
caused Flo to shout with mingled delight and alarm.

"I wonder," remarked Mrs Gordon, who chanced to be in the drawing-room
on the windward side of the nursery, "what amuses Flo so much!"

She arose and went, leisurely, to see.

Roderick, the groom, being in the harness-room on the lee side of the
nursery at the time, made a remark with the same opening words.

"I wonder," said he, "what _that_ wull pe!" A sniffing action of the
nose told what "that" meant. "Don't you smell a smell, Tonal'?"

Donald sniffed, and replied that he did--"what-e-ver."

"It wull