* * * * *

=THE INFANTICIDE.=

From an economic point of view it was inexcusable. I can only hope
that the affair will never reach the ear of the new FOOD-CONTROLLER.
The chief culprit was undoubtedly Joan minor--I only became an
accomplice after the fact--and I can scarcely believe that even a
Food-Controller could be very angry with Joan minor. For one thing she
really is so very minor. And then there's her manner; in face of it
severity, as I have found, is out of the question. Even Joan major,
who has been known to rout our charlady in single combat, finds it
irresistible. Indeed when I taxed her with having a hand in the crime
she secured an acquittal on the plea of duress.

Ever since Joan minor arrived at years of understanding the weeks
preceding the great day have been fraught with a mystery in which I
have no share. Earnest conversations which break off guiltily the
moment I enter the room; strained whisperings and now and again little
uncontrollable giggles of ecstatic anticipation from Joan minor--these
are the signs that I have learned to look for, and, being well versed
in my part, to ignore with a sublime unconsciousness which should make
my fortune in a melodrama of stage asides. And then, on the morning of
my birthday, the solemn ceremonial of revelation, I would come in to
breakfast, to find a parcel lying by my plate. At first I would not
see it. In a tense and unnatural silence Joan minor would follow me
with her eyes while I opened the window a few inches, closed it again,
stroked the cat and generally behaved as though sitting down at table
was the last thing I intended. Then, when I did take my place, "The
post is early to-day," I would say, pushing the parcel carelessly on
one side as I took up the paper, while Joan minor hid her face in Joan
major's blouse lest her feelings should betray her into premature
speech. And at last I would open it, and my amazement and delight
would know no bounds. There was very little acting needed for that. It
is no small thing to be spirited back to the age when birthdays really
matter.

And so this year it was with a feeling of having been cheated that I
left the house for the office, where, in company with other old fogies
and girl clerks, I do my unambitious bit towards downing the Hun. The
premonitory symptoms had seemed to me unusually acute, but the morning
had brought no parcel. My years weighed on my shoulders again