to the amount of
protection his children needed, but he had a sort of idea that children
left in charge of a housekeeper would be considered neglected, and he
did not want his children to feel neglected. As usual, he referred
his dilemma to Mrs. Crofton, who replied promptly from the Riviera,
saying she was on her way home to Crofts, and would stop a week in
town to settle his affairs for him. This he forgot to mention to the
children until the day she was to arrive, and then, in his innocence,
considered their dismay as one of the peculiarities of youth.

'So you are not afraid of me, eh? Then why won't you give me a kiss, I
should like to know?' demanded Auntie Anna, as Barbara held out her hand
in a boyish fashion.

The child looked surprised, and offered an unwilling cheek. 'We don't
often kiss in our family,' she explained; 'only when the boys go back to
school, or when somebody has banged somebody else on the head, or when
it's a birthday and presents. But that isn't often, you see.'

Mrs. Crofton of Crofts smiled, and her brother pulled his daughter down
between them on the sofa.

'You must forgive her appearance,' he said apologetically. 'We haven't
anybody to teach us to be ladylike, have we, Babs?'

The old lady put her finger under Barbara's chin, and turned the small
face round, and looked into it keenly. 'What's the matter with her
appearance?' she inquired quickly. 'Don't be a goose, Everard! Now,
child, tell me! Do you want to go on being a boy for ever, reading all
sorts of books you have no business to read, and banging people on the
head when they offend you, and looking alarming old ladies in the face
without flinching; or do you want to be combed and brushed and smoothed
into a young lady, and taught to rave about art and music and poetry, and
told to look down when you are spoken to, and never to answer back if
the truth is unpleasant? Hey? Which is it to be?'

Barbara was looking puzzled. 'I don't think I know what you mean,' she
said. 'Do you mean that I _must_ be either me or--or Jill?'

'Well, supposing we put it that way,' replied Mrs. Crofton, smiling again.
'Which do you choose to be?'

Barbara did not stop to think about it. 'I don't want to be either, thank
you,' she said decidedly. 'I would _much_ rather be like you or father.'

Mr. Berkeley chuckled once more, and his sister struck her cane on the
ground and laughed heartily. 'A pretty mess you've made of your daughter's
educati