ing about the fat lady that
rides on a bicycle."

"Make her stop," said Max, she "intlups me worse. I'll never get my
letter done." Max, except for a wavy line or two in red chalk generally
confined his correspondence to enclosing tangible sections of things in
which he was interested at the time. To-day he had stuffed into his
envelope a clipping from the tail of Larkin's horse, one of the white
daisies Trike was being nourished upon, some shavings of coloured
chalks from a box on which he had just expended his final penny, and a
few currants from his last drop cake.

"I'm getting all my chalks mixed up with her intlupting me," he
complained, looking angrily towards the piano where the devoted Pauline
still battled madly with the Serenade.

"Pauline, my dear child, I shall go out of my senses if you play the
thing again," Miss Bibby said desperately, as Pauline for the twelfth
time began the clashing chords that opened the piece, and served as
contrast for the gentler music of the Serenade itself.

"I've--I've _sworn_ to myself to get it right," said Pauline wildly. Her
lips were quivering, her eyes were full of tears, her very hands were
shaking with weariness.

"You shouldn't swear," began Miss Bibby.

"The butcher does," volunteered Max.

"I--I mean it is wrong to bind oneself by a promise one may not be able
to keep," Miss Bibby added hastily. "And you are not to talk to the
butcher, Max. Shut the piano now, Pauline, and another time when you are
quite calm----"

"I've got it w-w-written," sobbed Pauline, fighting with the keys
through a mist of tears.

"You can easily start another letter," said Miss Bibby distractedly;
"don't mention your music this time--your mother won't mind."

"No, I can't stop; I can't stop," wailed Pauline, playing on as if under
a spell.

At this point Anna stalked into the room.

"Which I'm quite aware it isn't my place, Miss Bibby; but I'm here to
look after the children as well as you," she said, "and them down with
whooping cough that dreadful they can't eat potatoes, and getting
punished like this till the very kettle in the kitchen is ready to
scream, and the Missus don't believe in punishing, no, she don't, and
it's a good deal longer I've lived in the fambly than some people, and
knows the ways better, and the tears streaming down the poor child's
face like you never saw."

Pauline had quivered once or twice during this heated speech, but as it
finished she crashe