ve a book instead of----"

"Leonie, that is very rude."

"Please, Lady Hetth. Go on, darling---what kind of book."

"'Bout tigers an' snakes, oh! an' elephants. Weal animals. Dolls, you
know"--she smiled as she confided the great secret--"aren't weal
_babies_, they're just full of sawdust."

He lifted the child on to his knee, frowning at the weight, and
smoothed the tangled mass of curls away from the low forehead with a
touch which caused her to make a sound 'twixt sob and sigh, and to lie
back against the broad shoulder.

It was a long and disjointed story, told in the inconsequent fashion of
a child of seven unused to converse with her elders; and continually
interrupted by the aunt, who, fretful and dying for her tea, jingled
her distracting bracelets and chains, fidgeted with the Anglo-Indian
odds-and-ends of her raiment, and disconcerted the child by the futile
verbal proddings; which are as bad for the infant mind as the criminal
attempts to force a baby to use its legs are to the infant body.

"So! and you found the dear little kitten lying quite still in the
nursery this morning?"

"Yes! Stwangled!"

"Do pronounce your _r_'s, Leonie."

The child shivered in the man's arms.

"Who told you it was strangled?"

"Auntie!"

The man's hand closed for a moment on a heavy paper-weight as he looked
across the room at the woman who was waggling her foot and knitting her
scanty brows at the sound of the rending sobs.

"Auntie was mistaken, darling. Kitty was asleep, tired out with
playing or running away from the dog next door."

Leonie shook her head. "Kitty's dead," she wailed, "lying all black
and quiet, like--like my dweams!"

There was a moment's pregnant silence, during which Leonie turned round
and snuffled into the great man's collar, and he frowned above the
russet head as he drew a block of paper and pencil towards him.

"What dreams, darling?"

"Don' know--dweams I dweam!"

The specialist sat still for a second and then laughed, the great kind
laugh of a man with a big heart who adores children.

"Let's play a game, Leonie! You tell me about the dreams, and I'll
tell you about my new motor-car, and the one who tells best will get a
big sweet!"

With a child's sudden change of mood Leonie sat up, swinging her black
silk legs to and fro, her eyes dancing, her lips parted over the even
little teeth.

"I _love_ sweets!" said she. "You begin!"

"My car's grey!" said Sir Jonathan