wear last year. If her face had not been as freckled as a turkey's egg
and the skin had not been peeling off her nose with sunburn she would
have looked very pretty. Next year, I suppose, her frocks will be down
to her ankles and she will be taking care of her complexion. Then, no
doubt, she will look very pretty. But she will not look any more demure
than she did that morning.

"It is always right," she said, "to do good when we can, and to show
kindness to those whose lot in life is less happy than our own."

When Kitty looks particularly demure and utters sentiments of that kind,
as if she were translating one of Dr. Watts' hymns into prose, I know
that there is trouble coming. I did not have to wait long to find out
what was in store.

"Claire Lane's aunt," she said, "does a great deal of work for the
children of the very poor. That is a noble thing to do."

It is. I have heard of Miss Lane's work. Indeed I give a subscription
every year towards carrying it on.

"Claire," Kitty went on, "is my greatest friend at school, and she
sometimes helps her aunt. Claire is rather noble too, though not so
noble as Miss Lane."

"I am glad to hear," I said, "that you have such a nice girl for a
friend. I suppose it was from her you learnt that it was right to show
kindness to those whose lot is less happy than our own."

Kitty referred to a letter which she had brought with her into the room,
and then said:

"To-day Claire and her aunt are bringing fifty children down here to
spend the day playing on the beach and paddling in the sea. That will
cost a lot and I expect you to subscribe, Uncle John."

I at once handed Kitty all the money I had in my pocket. She took
it without a word of thanks. It was quite a respectable sum, perhaps
deserving a little gratitude, but I did not grudge it. I felt I was
getting off cheap if I only had to give money. My sister, Kitty's
mother, understood the situation better.

"I suppose I must send down bread and jam," she said. "Did you say fifty
children, Batty?"

"Fifty or sixty," said Kitty.

"Three pots of jam and ten loaves ought to be enough," said my sister.

"And cake," said Kitty. "They must have cake. Uncle John," she turned to
me, "would you rather cut up bread and jam or walk over to the village
and bring back twenty-five pounds of cake?"

I was not going to get off so easily as I hoped. The day was hot, far
too hot for walking, and the village is two miles off; but I