bsorbing topic of ribbons,
and on such a subject I thought he might safely be trusted. On what an
unsafe foundation is built the faith of an aunt!

"Aunt Woggles," he said, "has got pink ribbons in her nightie; it's
lovely, and she doesn't do her hair in funny little things like--"

Here David distracted Hugh's attention by telling him an absolute
untruth concerning a fox to be seen out of the window. The first of
April is the only day in the whole year on which the word "fox" won't
take him flying to the window.

Betty, perhaps by way of changing the conversation, said, "You did eat
my cake, didn't you, Aunt Woggles?"

"Of course I did, Betty."

"Don't you believe it," said Mr. Dudley.

"I always believe my Aunt Woggles," said Betty with infinite scorn. "Was
it nice, Aunt Woggles?" Mercifully she didn't wait for an answer, but
continued: "I lost the currant three times, but I found it all right.
I thought I had trodden on it, but I hadn't, because I looked on the
bottom of my shoe and it wasn't there. I did have lots of currants, only
when I dropped them Mungo ate them all up, except this one. He didn't
eat this one because I stopped him. I said, 'Drop it, Mungo!' and he
did. It was a good thing he didn't eat it, wasn't it? I made lines
across, did you see? All across the cake! I made those with a hairpin.
It was a good plan, wasn't it?"

Somehow or other my breakfast had fallen short of my expectations. But
what I had lost in appetite I had perhaps gained in other ways, for I
had until then undoubtedly existed in the mind of Mr. Dudley only under
the shadow of Diana's charming personality. I now took my stand alone,
as the Aunt Woggles who ate mud-pies, I am afraid; but still it is
something to have a separate existence. Is it?

Chapter V

Diana's children are of a distinctly religious turn of mind. I think
most children are, and what wonderful, curious thing their religion
is! Looking back to my own childhood, I remember thinking, or rather
knowing, that the Holy Ghost was a Shetland shawl. We called our shawls
"comforters"; we wore them when we went to parties in the winter. "I will
not leave you comfortless," could mean nothing else. To complete the
illusion, we had in the nursery a picture of the Pentecost, the Holy
Ghost descending in the form of a cloudy substance, not unlike a
Shetland shawl. I was so sure that I was right, that I never thought of
asking any one. When I grew older and told my