t I've got to tell you
now what a button is. That," I added severely, pointing to the top of my
waistcoat, "is a button."

"What's 'at?" said Margery, pointing to the next one.

I looked at her in horror. Then I began to talk very quickly. "There was
once a balloon," I said rapidly, "a dear little boy balloon--I mean toy
balloon, and this balloon was a jolly little balloon just two minutes
old, and he wasn't always asking silly questions, and when he fell down
and exploded himself they used to wring him out and say, 'Come, come
now, be a little airship about it,' and so----"

"What's 'at?" asked Margery, pointing to the top button.

There was only one way out of it. I began to sing a carol in a very
shrill voice.

All the artist rose in Margery.

"Don't sing," she said hurriedly; "Margie sing. What shall Margie sing,
uncle?"

Before I could suggest anything she was off. It was a scandalous song.
She began by announcing that she wanted to be among the boys, and
(anticipating my objections) assured me that it was no good kicking up a
noise, because it was no fun going out when there weren't any boys
about, you were so lonely-onely-onely....

Here the tune became undecided; and, a chance word recalling another
context to her mind, she drifted suddenly into a hymn, and sang it with
the same religious fervour as she had sung the other, her fair head
flung back, and her hazel eyes gazing into Heaven....

I listened carefully. This was a bit I didn't recognise.... The tune
wavered for a moment ... and out of it these words emerged triumphant--

"Talk of me to the boys you meet.
Remember me kindly to Regent Street.
And give them my love in the----"

"What's 'at, uncle?"

"That," I said, stroking it, "is dear uncle's nose."

"What's----"

By the way, would you like it all over again? No? Oh, very well.

V. AFTERNOON SLEEP

["_In the afternoon they came unto a land
In which it seemed always afternoon._"]

I am like Napoleon in that I can go to sleep at any moment; I am unlike
him (I believe) in that I am always doing so. One makes no apology for
doing so on Sunday afternoon; the apology indeed should come from the
others, the wakeful parties....

"Uncle!"

"Margery."

"Will you come and play wiv me?"

"I'm rather busy just now," I said with closed eyes. "After tea."

"Why are you raver busy just now? My baby's only raver busy sometimes."

"Well then, you know what it's