rtaker in her half-jealous aversion, "that it was a
great disappointment that Mrs. Poynsett could not make her sons like
her as much as she did herself."

"Oh!" cried Rosamond, "how little peace we should have if we always
heeded what people say!"

"People that know," persisted Cecil.

"Not very wise or very kind people to say so," quoth Rosamond;
"though, by the bye, the intended sting is happily lost, considering
that it lies among five."

"Why should you assume a sting?"

"Because I see you are stung, and want to sting me," said Rosamond,
in so merry a tone that the earnestness was disguised.

"I! I'm not stung! What Mrs. Poynsett or Miss Bowater may have
schemed is nothing to me," said Cecil, with all her childish
dignity.

"People talk of Irish imagination," said Rosamond in her lazy
meditative tone.

"Well?" demanded Cecil, sharply.

"Only it is not _my_ Irish imagination that has devised this
dreadful picture of the artful Jenny and Mrs. Poynsett spinning
their toils to entrap the whole five brothers. Come, Cecil, take my
advice and put it out of your head. Suppose it were true, small
blame to Mrs. Poynsett."

"What do you mean?" said Cecil, in a voice of hurt dignity.

"I may mean myself." And Rosamond's peal of merry laughter was most
amazing and inexplicable to her companion, who was not sure that she
was not presuming to laugh at her.

There was a silence, broken at last by Rosamond. "Cecil, I have
been tumbled about the world a good deal more than you have, and I
never found that one got any good by disregarding the warnings of
the natives. There's an immense deal in the cat and the cock."

"I do not understand, said Cecil.

Whereupon Rosamond, in a voice as if she were telling the story to a
small child, began: "Once upon a time there was a wee bit
mousiekie, that lived in Giberatie O--that trotted out of her hole
upon an exploring expedition. By and by she came scuttling back in
a state of great trepidation--in fact, horribly nervous. 'Mother,
mother!' said the little mouse, 'I've seen a hideous monster, with a
red face, and a voice like a trumpet, and a pair of spurs.'"

"Of course, I know that," broke in Cecil.

"Ah, you haven't heard all. 'I should have died of terror,' said
the little mouse, 'only that I saw a dear sweet graceful creature,
with a lovely soft voice, and a smooth coat, and the most beautiful
eyes, and the most exquisite pathetic expression in her smile; a