bel, you didn't like the heads."

"Oh, no; I didn't--I hated them! They were all hanging to one side; and
there was nasty blood, and they looked as if they was going to waggle,"
concludes Mabel, with a terrified sob, burying her own head in her
mother's lap.

"Oh! she is too young," says Barbara, nervously clasping her little
woman close to her in a quiet, undemonstrative way, but so as to make
the child herself feel the protection of her arms.

"Too young for so dismal a sight," says Dysart, stooping over and
patting Mabel's sunny curls with a kindly touch. He is very fond of
children, as are all men, good and bad.

"I should not have let her go," says Mrs. Monkton, with self-reproach.
"Such exhibitions are painful for young minds, however harmless."

"When she is older----" begins Dysart, still caressing the little head.

"Yes, yes--she is too young--far too young," says Mrs. Monkton, giving
the child a second imperceptible hug.

"One is never too young to learn the miseries of the world," says Miss
L'Estrange, in her most terrible tone. "Why should a child be pampered
and petted, and shielded from all thoughts of harm and wrong, as though
they never existed? It is false treatment. It is a wilful deceiving of
the growing mind. One day they must wake to all the horrors of the
world. They should therefore be prepared for it, steadily, sternly,
unyieldingly!"

"What a grand--what a strong nature!" says Mr. Browne, uplifting his
hands in admiration. "You would, then, advocate the cause of the
pantomime?" says he, knowing well that the very name of theatre stinks
in the nostrils of Miss L'Estrange.

"Far be it from me!" says she, with a violent shake of her head. "May
all such disreputable performances come to a bad end, and a speedy one,
is my devout prayer. But," with a vicious glance at Barbara, "I would
condemn the parents who would bring their children up in a dark
ignorance of the woes and vices of the world in which they must pass
their lives. I think, as Mabel has been permitted to look at the
pernicious exhibition of this afternoon, she should also be encouraged
to look with calmness upon it, if only to teach her what to expect from
life."

"Good heavens!" says Mr. Browne, in a voice of horror. "Is that what she
has to expect? Rows of decapitated heads! Have you had private
information, Miss L'Estrange? Is a rehearsal of the French Revolution to
be performed in London? Do you really believe the poor ch