ed away. "I like cleam," he said, licking it lovingly off one
biscuit.

"Well, I am thankful the insurrection is over and that discipline has
been so firmly maintained," said Kate with a twinkle in her eye.

Miss Bibby blushed.

"You are sorry, aren't you, darling?" she said, feeling after her
formula as a matter of duty.

Max nodded again.

"Say you are sorry, darling boy," she whispered.

Max patted her cheek and then stole his little arm round her neck in a
perfectly cherubic way.

"I'm solly," he said; then he seemed to realize more clearly that the
lady's honour had to be vindicated before all these "girls," and he
repeated more loudly and without being asked, "I'm velly solly."

"You darling!" cried the delighted Miss Bibby, and clasped and kissed
him again.

Pauline wheeled "Trike" out to the foot of the steps, Lynn rushed for
the ever lost boy-hat, Muffie flew to pick a stone up from the path
before the little wheel.

Then a flash of irresistible humour shone in Kate Kinross's eyes.

"Max," she said with exceeding suddenness, "what are you sorry for?"

Max mounted his machine from behind and settled himself in his saddle.

"Solly cos I was shut up," he said in the most perfect faith, and then
pushed at his little red pedals and started slowly away.

CHAPTER XXI

IN PRINT AT LAST

Pauline and Muffie had gone flying down to the gate to run behind the
bicycle and tricycle as far as the corner where the little red tricycle
had always to turn and come back.

Lynn hung back a moment.

"Take care of this till I come back, will you, Miss Bibby?" she said,
"I'm keeping it for Max."

_This_ was a paper boat that Kate had cleverly folded for Lynn while she
waited, using a sheet she tore haphazard from a periodical that she had
under her arm, part of the morning's post.

Miss Bibby took the boat, and when Lynn had darted off after the other
young ones, she examined it with a view to finding out how Kate made
these clever little things that the children so greatly delighted in.

And there leaped up at her eyes from the printed sheet one of the
cutting sentences she had put into the mouth of the hero of her story,
the _Hypocrites_! Another and another sentence followed--there stood out
her own heroine's name in the heavenly black of type! At last, at last.
Oh, how good of him, how very good--he had plainly taken the tale with
him, and got it into this _Melbourne Review_, which was an infinit