prove. Wiggs, now in for a thoroughly bad week,
realised that it was her turn again. What should she do?

An inspiration came to her. She had been really bad the day before;
it was a pity to waste such perfect badness as that. Why not have the
one bad wish to which the ring entitled her?

She drew the ring out from its hiding-place round her neck.

"I wish," she said, holding it up, "I wish that the Countess
Belvane----" she stopped to think of something that would really annoy
her--"I wish that the Countess shall never be able to write another
rhyme again."

She held her breath, expecting a thunderclap or some other outward
token of the sudden death of Belvane's muse. Instead she was struck by
the extraordinary silence of the place. She had a horrid feeling that
everybody else was dead, and realising all at once that she was a very
wicked little girl, she ran up to her room and gave herself up to
tears.

MAY YOU, DEAR SIR OR MADAM, REPENT AS QUICKLY!

However, this is not a moral work. An hour later Wiggs came into
Belvane's garden, eager to discover in what way her inability to rhyme
would manifest itself. It seemed that she had chosen the exact
moment.

In the throes of composition Belvane had quite forgotten the apple-pie
bed, so absorbing is our profession. She welcomed Wiggs eagerly, and
taking her hand led her towards the roses.

"I have just been talking to my dear roses," she said. "Listen:

_Whene'er I take my walks about,_
_I like to see the roses out;_
_I like them yellow, white, and pink,_
_But crimson are the best, I think._
_The butterfly----_"

But we shall never know about the butterfly. It may be that Wiggs has
lost us here a thought on lepidoptera which the world can ill spare;
for she interrupted breathlessly.

"When did you write that?"

"I was just making it up when you came in, dear child. These thoughts
often come to me as I walk up and down my beautiful garden. '_The
butterfly----_'"

But Wiggs had let go her hand and was running back to the Palace. She
wanted to be alone to think this out.

What had happened? That it was truly a magic ring, as the fairy had
told her, she had no doubt; that her wish was a bad one, that she had
been bad enough to earn it, she was equally certain. What then had
happened? There was only one answer to her question. The bad wish
had been granted to someone else.

To whom? She had lent the ring to nobody. T