al of this tale is 'Most haste, least speed!'"

The girls laughed.

"I don't generally like stories with a moral," said Brenda, "but I
don't mind this one at any rate. Go on, Marian!"

"The next is a piece of poetry," said Marian.

THE KITTENS' CHORUS

By SYLVIA LINDSAY

Miew! Miew! Miew! Miew!
We want to catch mice, we do, we do!
But our mother, the old white cat,
Says we are rather too young for that.

Miew! Miew! Miew! Miew!
We want to catch flies, we do, we do!
But our mother says that if we do it
We'll grow so thin that we soon shall rue it!

Miew! Miew! Miew! Miew!
We want to catch mother's tail we do!
But she says she is not such a common cat
As to let her kits be so pert as that.

Miew! Miew! Miew! Miew!
We want to be good, we do, we do!
But that's much harder to do than to say,
So we'll think about that another day.

The poem proved so popular that Marian had to read it over again. It
was the first time that the class had heard any of Sylvia's effusions,
and they were quite impressed.

"I'm afraid mine will seem very stupid after it," said Brenda. "I
couldn't think of anything to write, but I was obliged to put
something."

"The title sounds interesting," said Marian.

MY VISIT TO FRANCE

By BRENDA G. PRESTBURY

Last summer Mother took Hazel and me with her to France, to
visit Aunt Cecily, who was staying near Rouen. The first thing
we saw was a funny old woman in a big white cap, like a large
poke bonnet, and wooden shoes on her feet. The porters all wore
baggy blue blouses something like pinafores. We were obliged to
go through the Customs. A man in a uniform was looking to see if
anybody had brought any tea. He took a little girl's doll away
from her, and felt it to see if it had any tea inside it; then
he took a lady's cushion, and because she got angry, he stuck
his sword through it, and all the feathers came out over his
grand coat. We were so glad! There were no carpets in the house
where Aunt Cecily was living; the floors were of polished wood,
and so slippery. Jean, the servant, used to rub them with
beeswax every morning, but he was very cross in French when
Hazel and I made slides on them. We used to have coffee and
lovely little rolls at seven in the morning, and then proper
breakfast at eleven, and we had quite different things