look like Ovid."

"When, dear?" Carmina asked--meaning, at what past date.

"When his face was close to yours," Zo answered--meaning, under what
recent circumstances.

Ovid, hearing this reply, knew his small sister well enough to foresee
embarrassing results if he allowed the conversation to proceed. He took
Carmina's arm, and led her a little farther on.

Miss Minerva obstinately followed them, with Maria in attendance, still
imperfectly enlightened on the migration of cranes. Zo looked round, in
search of another audience. Teresa had been listening; she was present,
waiting for events. Being herself what stupid people call "an oddity,"
her sympathies were attracted by this quaint child. In Teresa's opinion,
seeing the animals was very inferior, as an amusement, to exploring Zo's
mind. She produced a cake of chocolate, from a travelling bag which she
carried with her everywhere. The cake was sweet, it was flavoured with
vanilla, and it was offered to Zo, unembittered by advice not to
be greedy and make herself ill. Staring hard at Teresa, she took an
experimental bite. The wily duenna chose that propitious moment to
present herself in the capacity of a new audience.

"Who was that other man you saw, who looked like Mr. Ovid?" she asked;
speaking in the tone of serious equality which is always flattering to
the self-esteem of children in intercourse with elders. Zo was so proud
of having her own talk reported by a grown-up stranger, that she even
forgot the chocolate. "I wanted to say more than that," she announced.
"Would you like to hear the end of it?" And this admirable foreign
person answered, "I should very much like."

Zo hesitated. To follow out its own little train of thought, in
words, was no easy task to the immature mind which Miss Minerva had so
mercilessly overworked. Led by old Dame Nature (first of governesses!)
Zo found her way out of the labyrinth by means of questions.

"Do you know Joseph?" she began.

Teresa had heard the footman called by his name: she knew who Joseph
was.

"Do you know Matilda?" Zo proceeded.

Teresa had heard the housemaid called by her name: she knew who Matilda
was. And better still, she helped her little friend by a timely guess
at what was coming, presented under the form of a reminder. "You saw Mr.
Ovid's face close to Carmina's face," she suggested.

Zo nodded furiously--the end of it was coming already.

"And before that," Teresa went on, "you saw Joseph's f