the plan, urging that it was very bad for the
child. But Ogilvie thought otherwise, and notwithstanding all the
mother's objections the point was carried. A high chair was placed for
Sibyl next her father, and she occupied it evening after evening,
nibbling a biscuit from the dessert, and airing her views in a
complacent way on every possible subject under the sun.

"I call Miss Winstead crosspatch now," she said on this occasion. "She
is more cranky than you think. She is, really, truly, father."

"You must not talk against your governess, Sibyl," said her mother
from the other end of the table.

"Oh, let her speak out to us, my dear," said the father. "What was
Miss Winstead cross about to-day, Sibyl?"

"Spelling, as usual," said Sibyl briefly, "but more special 'cos Lord
Jesus made me pretty."

"Hush!" said the mother again.

Sibyl glanced at her father. There was a twinkle of amusement in his
eyes which he could scarcely keep back.

"My dear," he said, addressing his wife, "do you think Miss Winstead
is just the person----"

"I beg of you, Philip," interrupted the mother, "not to speak of the
child's teacher before her face. Sibyl, I forbid you to make unkind
remarks."

"It's 'cos they're both so perfect," thought Sibyl, "but it's hard on
me not to be able to 'splain things. If I can't, what is to be done?"

She munched her biscuit sorrowfully, and looked with steadfast eyes
across the room. She supposed she would have to endure Miss Winstead,
crosspatch as she was, and she did not enjoy the task which mother and
Lord Jesus had set her.

The footman was in the act of helping Mr. Ogilvie to champagne, and
Sibyl paused in her thoughts to watch the frothy wine as it filled
the glass.

"Is it nice?" she inquired.

"Very nice, Sibyl. Would you like to taste it?"

"No, thank you, father. Nurse says if you drink wine when you're a
little girl, you grow up to be drunk as a hog."

"My dear Sibyl," cried the mother, "I really must speak to nurse. What
a disgraceful thing to say!"

"Let us turn the subject," said the father.

Sibyl turned it with a will.

"I 'spect I ought to 'fess to you," she said. "I was cross myself
to-day. Seems to me I'm not getting a bit perfect. I stamped my foot
when Miss Winstead made me write all my spelling over again. Father,
is it necessary for a little girl to spell long words?"

"You would not like to put wrong spelling into your letters to me,
would you?" was the answ