y. She did understand Proper's point of
view; she had to admit that, if Clever saw through her deception, it was
honourable of him to have said so. And though, of course, her loving
heart was all for Prince Goldenlocks, she felt that it would not be fair
to award the throne to him without a further trial. So she did another
thing that she was very fond of doing. She changed herself into a pretty
little dove and--right in front of Prince Proper--she flew with a hawk
in pursuit of her. "_Now_ we shall see," she said to herself, "which of
the three youths has the softest heart."

You can guess what Proper said.

"Life," he said, "is one constant battle. Nature," he said, "is
ruthless, and the weakest must go to the wall. If I kill the hawk," he
said, "I am kind to the dove, but am I," he said, and I think there was
a good deal in this--"am I kind to the caterpillar or whatever it is
that the dove eats?" Of course, you know, there _is_ that to be thought
of. Anyhow, after soliloquizing for forty-seven minutes Prince Proper
went on his way; and by and by Prince Clever came along.

You can guess what Clever said.

"My whiskers!" he said, "this is older than the last. I knew this in my
cradle." With one of those nasty sarcastic laughs that I hate so much he
went on his way; and by and by Prince Goldenlocks came along.

(Now then, Goldenlocks, the throne is almost yours!)

You can guess what Goldenlocks said.

"Poor little dove," he said. "But I can save its life."

Rapidly he fitted an arrow to his bow and with careful aim let fly at
the pursuing hawk....

I say again that Prince Goldenlocks was the most beautiful youth you
have ever seen in your life, and he had a very loving nature. But he was
a poor shot.

He hit the dove....

_"Is that all?" said Margery._

_"That's all," I said. "Good night."_

DISAPPOINTMENT

My young friend Bobby (now in the early thirteens) has been making his
plans for the Christmas holidays. He communicated them to me in a letter
from school:--

"I am going to write an opera in the holidays with a boy called Short, a
very great and confident friend of mine here. I am doing the words and
Short is doing the music. We have already got the title; it is called
'Disappointment.'"

Last week, on his return to town, he came to see me at my club, and when
the waiter had brought in drinks, and Bobby had refused a cigar, I
lighted up and prepared to talk shop. His recent dis