he interpolation of
a little skilful fiction.

* * * * *

That morning, at Strides Cottage, a regrettable event had disturbed
Granny Marrable's equanimity. A small convalescent, named Toby, who was
really old enough to know better, had made a collection of beautiful,
clean, new horse-chestnuts from under the tree in the field behind the
house. Never was the heart of man more embittered by this sort being no
use for cooking than in the case of these flawless, glossy rotundities.
Each one was a handful for a convalescent, and that was why Toby so
often had his hands in his pockets. He was, in fact, fondling his
ammunition, like Mr. Dooley. For that was, according to Toby, the
purpose of Creation in the production of the horse-chestnut tree. He had
awaited his opportunity, and here it was:--he was unwatched in the large
room that was neither kitchen nor living-room, but more both than
neither, and he seized it to show his obedience to a frequent injunction
not to throw stones. He was an honourable convalescent, and he proved it
in the choice of a missile. His first horse-chestnut only gave him the
range; his second smashed the glass it was aimed at. And that glass was
the door or lid of the automatic watermill on the chimney-piece!

The Granny was quite upset, and Widow Thrale was downright angry, and
called Toby an undeserving little piece, if ever there was one. It was a
harsh censure, and caused Toby to weep; in fact, to roar. Roaring,
however, did nothing towards repairing the mischief done, and nearly led
to a well-deserved penalty for Toby, to be put to his bed and very
likely have no sugar in his bread-and-milk--such being the exact wording
of the sentence. It was not carried out, as it was found that the
watermill and horses, the two little girls in sun-bonnets, and the
miller smoking at the window, were all intact; only the glass being
broken. There was no glazier in the village, which broke few windows,
and was content to wait the coming round of a peripatetic plumber, who
came at irregular intervals, like Easter, but without astronomical
checks. So, as a temporary expedient to keep the dust out, Widow Thrale
pasted a piece of paper over the breakage, and the mill was hidden from
the human eye. Toby showed penitence, and had sugar in his
bread-and-milk, but the balance of his projectiles was confiscated.

Consequently, old Mrs. Marrable was not in her best form when her young
la