a's direction. His head fell on
her plump shoulder, causing her to start nervously.

Charlotte seized and shook him with vigour, "O Jerry," she cried
piteously, "if you're not going to be good, how ever shall I tell you my
story?"

Jerry's face was injured innocence itself. "Blame if you like, Madam,"
he seemed to say, "the eternal laws of gravitation, but not a helpless
puppet, who is also an orphan and a stranger in the land."

"Now we'll go on," began Charlotte once more. "So she got into the
garden at last--I've left out a lot, but you won't care, I'll tell you
some other time--and they were all playing croquet, and that's where the
flamingo comes in, and the Queen shouted out, 'Off with her head!'"

At this point Jerry collapsed forward, suddenly and completely, his
bald pate between his knees. Charlotte was not very angry this time. The
sudden development of tragedy in the story had evidently been too much
for the poor fellow. She straightened him out, wiped his nose, and,
after trying him in various positions, to which he refused to adapt
himself, she propped him against the shoulder of the (apparently)
unconscious Rosa. Then my eyes were opened, and the full measure of
Jerry's infamy became apparent. This, then, was what he had been playing
up for. The fellow had designs. I resolved to keep him under close
observation.

"If you'd been in the garden," went on Charlotte, reproachfully, "and
flopped down like that when the Queen said 'Off with his head!' she'd
have offed with your head; but Alice wasn't that sort of girl at all.
She just said, 'I'm not afraid of you, you're nothing but a pack of
cards'--oh, dear! I've got to the end already, and I hadn't begun
hardly! I never can make my stories last out! Never mind, I'll tell you
another one."

Jerry didn't seem to care, now he had gained his end, whether the
stories lasted out or not. He was nestling against Rosa's plump form
with a look of satisfaction that was simply idiotic; and one arm had
disappeared from view--was it round her waist? Rosa's natural blush
seemed deeper than usual, her head inclined shyly--it must have been
round her waist.

"If it wasn't so near your bedtime," continued Charlotte, reflectively,
"I'd tell you a nice story with a bogy in it. But you'd be frightened,
and you'd dream of bogies all night. So I'll tell you one about a White
Bear, only you mustn't scream when the bear says 'Wow,' like I used to,
'cos he's a good bear reall