ngs--we think they're awfully nice."

Miss Mills laughed in the kind of manner which always irritated Judy.

"I am sorry not to be able to join your very peculiar hero-worship, my
dears," she said. "I can't say that I am attached to the pig."

"Then it is very wrong of you," said Judy, her eyes flashing, "when you
think of all the poor pig does for you."

"Of all the poor pig does for me! What next?"

"You wouldn't be the woman you are but for the pig," said Judy. "Don't
you eat him every day of your life for breakfast? You wouldn't be as
strong as you are but for the poor pig, and the least you can do is to
love him. I don't suppose he likes being killed to oblige you."

Judy's great eyes were flashing, and her little sensitive mouth was
quivering.

Miss Mills gave her a non-comprehending glance. She could not in the
least fathom the child's queer passionate nature. Injustice of all sorts
preyed upon Judy; she could make herself morbid on almost any theme, and
a gloomy picture now filled her little soul. The animals were giving up
their lives for the human race, and the human race did not even give
them affection in return.

"Is that letter very funny?" asked Babs.

"It is not funny, but it is interesting to me."

"Do you love the person who wrote it to you?"

Miss Mills let the sheet of closely-written paper fall upon her lap; her
eyes gazed into the child's serene and wise little face. Something
impelled her to say words which she knew could not be understood.

"I hate the person who wrote that letter more than anyone else in all
the world," she exclaimed.

There was a passionate ring in her thin voice. The emotion which filled
her voice and shone out of her eyes gave pathos to her commonplace
face. Babs began to pull a flower to pieces. She had never conjugated
the verb to hate, and did not know in the least what it meant; but Judy
looked at her governess with new interest.

"Why do you get letters from the person you hate so much?" she asked.

"Don't ask any more questions," replied Miss Mills. She folded up the
sheet of paper, slipped it into its envelope, replaced the envelope in
her pocket, and started to her feet. "Let us continue our walk," she
said. "We shall reach the woods in five minutes if we are quick."

"But," said Judy, as they went down the path across the field, "I
_should_ like to know, Miss Mills, why you get letters from a person you
hate."

"When little girls ask troublesome q