waist, leaving as sacrifice to custom only her petticoat. Up and down
her body sways in rhythmic motion, her hands stroking affectionately
her own knees; the while I, with paper knife for sword, or horse of
broomstick, stand opposite her, flourishing and declaiming. Sometimes I
am a knight and she a wicked ogre. She is slain, growling and swearing,
and at once becomes the beautiful princess that I secure and bear away
with me upon the prancing broomstick. So long as the princess is merely
holding sweet converse with me from her high-barred window, the scene
is realistic, at least, to sufficiency; but the bearing away has to be
make-believe; for my aunt cannot be persuaded to leave her chair before
the fire, and the everlasting rubbing of her knees.

At other times, with the assistance of the meat chopper, I am an Indian
brave, and then she is Laughing Water or Singing Sunshine, and we go out
scalping together; or in less bloodthirsty moods I am the Fairy Prince
and she the Sleeping Beauty. But in such parts she is not at her best.
Better, when seated in the centre of the up-turned table, I am Captain
Cook, and she the Cannibal Chief.

"I shall skin him and hang him in the larder till Sunday week," says my
aunt, smacking her lips, "then he'll be just in right condition; not too
tough and not too high." She was always strong in detail, was my aunt
Fan.

I do not wish to deprive my aunt of any credit due to her, but the more
I exercise my memory for evidence, the more I am convinced that her
compliance on these occasions was not conceived entirely in the spirit
of self-sacrifice. Often would she suggest the game and even the theme;
in such case, casting herself invariably for what, in old theatrical
parlance, would have been termed the heavy lead, the dragons and the
wicked uncles, the fussy necromancers and the uninvited fairies. As
authoress of a new cookery book for use in giant-land, my aunt, I am
sure, would have been successful. Most recipes that one reads are so
monotonously meagre: "Boil him," "Put her on the spit and roast her for
supper," "Cook 'em in a pie--with plenty of gravy;" but my aunt into the
domestic economy of Ogredom introduced variety and daintiness.

"I think, my dear," my aunt would direct, "we'll have him stuffed with
chestnuts and served on toast. And don't forget the giblets. They make
such excellent sauce."

With regard to the diet of imprisoned maidens she would advise:

"Not too much