n we had reached the appointed place and
she was being tucked up in bed, "will you tell me _all_ the story?"

Was there the shadow of a smile in her eyes? I don't know. But I'm sure
it will be wisest next time to promise her the whole thing. We must make
that point clear at the very start, and then we shall get along.

VII. THE LITERARY ART

Margery has a passion for writing just now. I can see nothing in it
myself, but if people _will_ write I suppose you can't stop them.

"Will you just lend me your pencil?" she asked.

"Remind me to give you a hundred pencils some time," I said as I took it
out, "and then you'll always have one. You simply eat pencils."

"Oo, I gave it you back last time."

"Only just. You inveigle me down here----"

"What do I do?"

"I'm not going to say that again for anybody."

"Well, may I have the pencil?"

I gave her the pencil and a sheet of paper, and settled her in a chair.

"B-a-b-y," said Margery to herself, planning out her weekly article for
the Reviews. "B-a-b-y, baby." She squared her elbows and began to
write....

"There!" she said, after five minutes' composition.

The manuscript was brought over to the critic, and the author stood
proudly by to point out subtleties that might have been overlooked at a
first reading.

"B-a-b-y," explained the author. "Baby."

"Yes, that's very good; very neatly expressed. 'Baby'--I like that."

"Shall I write some more?" said Margery eagerly.

"Yes, do write some more. This is good, but it's not long enough."

The author retired again, and in five minutes produced this:

B A B Y

"That's 'baby,'" explained Margery.

"Yes, I like that baby better than the other one. It's more spread out.
And it's bigger--it's one of the biggest babies I've seen."

"Shall I write some more?"

"Don't you write anything else ever?"

"I like writing 'baby,'" said Margery carelessly. "B-a-b-y."

"Yes, but you can't do much with just that one word. Suppose you wanted
to write to a man at a shop--'Dear Sir, You never sent me my boots.
Please send them at once as I want to go out this afternoon. I am yours
faithfully, Margery'--it would be no good simply putting 'B-a-b-y,'
because he wouldn't know what you meant."

"Well, what _would_ it be good putting?"

"Ah, that's the whole art of writing--to know what it would be any good
putting. You want to learn lots and lots of new words, so as to be
ready. Now here's a jolly little one that