etter of. For, crass realists though these young colonials were,
and bluntly as they faced facts, they were none the less just as hungry
for romance as the most insatiable novel-reader. Romance in any guise
was hailed by them, and swallowed uncritically, though it was no more
permitted to interfere with the practical conduct of their lives than
it is in the case of just that novel-reader, who puts untruth and
unreality from him, when he lays his book aside.--Another and weightier
reason was, their slower brains could not conceive the possibility of
such extraordinarily detailed lying as that to which Laura now
subjected them. Its very elaboration stood for its truth.

And the days passed, and Laura had the happiest ideas. A strange thing
about them was that they came to her quite unsought, dropping on her
like Aladdin's oranges on his turban. All she had to do was to fit them
into their niche in her fabrication.

At first, her tale had been chiefly concerned with the internal rift in
Mr. Shepherd's home-life, and only in a minor degree with herself. But
her public savoured the love-story most, and hence, consulting its
taste, as it is the tale-maker's bounden duty to do, Laura was obliged
to develop this side of her narrative at the expense of the other. And
the more the girls heard, the more they wished to hear. She had early
turned Miss Isabella into a staunch ally of her own, in the dissension
she had introduced into the curate's household; and one day she arrived
at a hasty kiss, stolen in the vestry after evening service, while Mr.
Shepherd was taking off his surplice. The puzzle had been, to get
herself into the vestry; but, once there, she saw what followed as if
it had actually happened. She saw Mr. Shepherd's arm slipped with
diffident alacrity round her waist, and her own virtuous recoil; saw
Maisie and Isabella waiting, sheep-like, in their pew, till it should
please the couple to emerge; saw the form of the verger moving about
the darkening church, as he put the lights out, one by one.

But the success this incident brought her turned Laura's head, making
her so foolhardy in her inventions that Maria, who for all her boldness
of speech was at heart a prude like the rest, grew uneasy.

"You're not to go to that house again, Kiddy. If you do, I'll peach to
old Gurley."

Laura ran upstairs to dress for tea, taking two steps at a time. On the
top landing, beside the great clothes-baskets, she collided with