to the pump.' And" with considerable vicious
enjoyment--"it isn't a bit of good for them, either. Here"--pointing to
the picture again with a stout forefinger--"here they're 'all-handsing'
at the pump. See?"

"No, I don't, and I don't want to," says Mabel, whimpering and hiding
her eyes. "Oh, I don't like it; it's a horrid picture! What's that man
doing there in the corner?" peeping through her fingers at a dead man in
the foreground. "He is dead! I know he is!"

"Of course he is," says Tommy. "And"--valiantly--"I don't care a bit, I
don't."

"Oh, but I do," says Mabel. "And there's a lot of water, isn't there?"

"There always is in the sea," says Tommy.

"They'll all be drowned, I know they will," says Mabel, pushing away the
book. "Oh, I hate 'handsing'; turn over, Tommy, do! It's a nasty cruel,
wicked picture!"

"Tommy, don't frighten Mabel," says his mother anxiously.

"I'm not frightening her. I'm only keeping her quiet," says Tommy
defiantly.

"Hah-hah!" says Mr. Courtenay vacuously.

"How wonderfully unpleasant children can make themselves," says Mrs.
Blake, making herself 'wonderfully unpleasant' on the spot. "Your little
boy so reminds me of my Reginald. He pulls his sister's hair merely for
the fun of hearing her squeal!"

"Tommy does not pull Mabel's hair," says Barbara a little stiffly.
"Tommy, come here to Mr. Browne; he wants to speak to you."

"I want to know if you would like a cat?" says Mr. Browne, drawing Tommy
to him.

"I don't want a cat like our cat," says Tommy, promptly. "Ours is so
small, and her tail is too thin. Lady Baltimore has a nice cat, with a
tail like mamma's furry for her neck."

"Well, that's the very sort of a cat I can get you if you wish."

"But is the cat as big as her tail?" asks Tommy, still careful not to
commit himself.

"Well, perhaps not quite," says Mr. Browne gravely. "Must it be quite as
big?"

"I hate small cats," says Tommy. "I want a big one! I want--" pausing to
find a suitable simile, and happily remembering the kennel outside--"a
regular setter of a cat!"

"Ah," says Mr. Browne, "I expect I shall have to telegraph to India for
a tiger for you."

"A real live tiger?" asks Tommy, with distended eyes and a flutter of
wild joy at his heart, the keener that some fear is mingled with it. "A
tiger that eats people up?"

"A man-eater," says Mr. Browne, solemnly. "It would be the nearest
approach I know to the animal you have described. As you won