I exclaimed, turning to the child's mamma. "Bill,
indeed! If she were being properly educated she would be calling it
Jupiter Agamemnon Wilcox by now. Does she ever speak to you at all of
the star-gleams amongst the cabbage-leaves?"

"I don't think there are any star-gleams amongst the cabbages in this
garden," she replied. "Only slugs."

"I don't care," I said; "the fact remains that Priscilla ought to be
constantly wondering what the cabbages do say to each other when they
have lonesome feels at night."

"Priscilla," I began again, "in about three years you will be seven
years old and quite a big girl. What will you play at then?"

"Oh, I san't play at all," she said. "I sall go visiting and sopping."

"Anything else?"

"Oh, yes, I sall have a knife."

"A pocket-knife?"

"No, not a pocket-knife, a knife to cut meat wiv, of course."

I had forgotten this goal of maidenly desires.

"And won't you go long walks in the big woods with me and tell me the
names of all the flowers and what they are thinking about?"

"Yes," she replied rather doubtfully. "Are there beasts in the woods?"

"Only rabbits, I think."

"We must be very careful, then, 'cos they're _very_ wild creatures,
aren't they?"

"Oh, not _very_ wild."

"Will you buy a gun at the gun-sop and soot them and we take them home
and eat them?"

Bless the child, I thought, there seems to be no getting her away from
this eating business.

"Priscilla," I began again, "in the woods there is a great big
lake, with trees and rushes all round it, and there are water-lilies
floating about and forget-me-nots at the edge."

Now, I thought, we shall perhaps have something about the lullaby
songs of the trees and the willow that does sing by the creek.

"Are there fiss in the lake?" inquired Priscilla.

"Yes," I said, "beautiful shining fish."

"And sall we catch the fiss and put them on the fire?"

"I suppose we might," I admitted.

"And will they sizzle?"

"Araminta," I said, "the child is hopeless. She has no soul. She
will never be a great authoress. The Cup must remain in Oregon, and
Priscilla will never tell the world how the wind did go walking in
the field, talking to the earth voices, with a preface by Sir AUCKLAND
GEDDES or Lord READING. She thinks about nothing but her food."

"Perhaps you had better try again after she's said her prayers,"
suggested Araminta. "She may be feeling a little more soulful then."

I attended the ceremony, w