I said "Yes," and that I was her loving uncle. It seemed to be then too late for a "P.T.O.," but I got one in and put on the back, "Love to Baby." The answer came by return of post: "MY DEAR UNCLE thank you for your letter come erly on p t o Thursday come at half past nothing baby sends her love and so do p t o I my roking horse has a sirrup broken isnt that a pity say yes or no good-bye from your loving MARGIE." Of course I thanked Baby for her love and gave my decision that it _was_ a pity about the rocking-horse. I did it in large capitals, which (as I ought to have said before) is the means of communication between Margery and her friends. For some reason or other I find printing capitals to be more tiring than the ordinary method of writing. "MY DEAR UNCLE," wrote Margery-- But we need not go into that. What I want to say is this: I love to get letters, particularly these, but I hate writing them, particularly in capitals. Years ago I used to answer Margery's letter for her. It is now her turn to answer mine for me. IX. THE TRUTH ABOUT HOME RAILS Imagine us, if you can, sitting one on each side of the fire, I with my feet on the mantelpiece, Margery curled up in the blue arm-chair, both of us intent on the morning paper. To me, by good chance, has fallen the sporting page; to Margery, the foreign, political and financial intelligence of the day. "What," said Margery, "does it mean when it says----" she stopped and spelt it over to herself again. I put down my piece of the paper and prepared to explain. The desire for knowledge in the young cannot be too strongly encouraged, and I have always flattered myself that I can explain in perfectly simple language anything which a child wants to know. For instance, I once told Margery what "Miniature Rifle Shooting" meant; it was a head-line which she had come across in her paper. The explanation took some time, owing to Margery's pre-conceived idea that a bird entered into it somewhere; several times, when I thought the lesson was over, she said, "Well, what about the bird?" But I think I made it plain to her in the end, though maybe she has forgotten about it now. "What," said Margery, "does it mean when it says 'Home Rails Firm'?" I took up my paper again. The Cambridge fifteen I was glad to see, were rapidly developing into a first-class team, and---- "'Home Rails Firm,'" repeated Margery, and looked up at me. My mind worked rapidly, as it always does in a crisis. "What did you say?" I asked in surprise. "What does 'Home Rails Firm' mean?" "Where does it say that?" I went on, still thinking at lightning speed. "There. It said it yesterday too." "Ah, yes." I made up my mind. "Well, that," I said--"I think that is something you must ask your father." "I did ask him yesterday." "Well, then----" "He told me to ask Mummy." Coward! "You can be sure," I said firmly, "that what Mummy told you would be right," and I returned to my paper.