"I don’t know who he is, motherling. They call him Carrots at the office because his hair is so red—Carrots or the Lout. Teddie generally speaks of him as the Lout," Hazel rejoined meekly, in pretty penitence. Mrs. Le Mesurier glanced uneasily at her daughter. "Probably of French extraction," she murmured, the suspicion, that this again might be a word not commonly used among ladies, ousted from her mind on encountering Hazel’s innocently candid brown eyes. "But, dear, you have not yet explained. Why should you imagine for a moment that Teddie——" "Well, you see, mother dear," the girl interposed, eager to justify herself, "Teddie did it once before—I thought he would have told you—and so I supposed it not unlikely, considering how he enjoyed doing it that time—having tasted blood, as it were—he should, if roused, be unable to resist doing it again. He says there was a fearful row that time," she went on enthusiastically, "Carrots gave a sort of bellow when the inkpot struck him, and at that moment, who should come into the room but—the boss. I am not exactly using slang now, mother," the girl hastened to explain, breaking off the narrative at this most critical juncture, "I am only quoting Teddie, who tells the story so graphically—somehow, more classical language would not suit it. Now would it?" she asked, quaintly deprecative. "I fear you are too much with the boys, Hazel," her mother remarked, gravely, "or rather, _were_ too much with them," she amended, a little sigh escaping her for those absent ones, "and your mind was always impressionable, your memory retentive. Even as a tiny child you would always clothe a story in the exact words in which it had been told you, whether by servant, schoolboy, or your mother and father." "Yes, I do that rather," Hazel admitted contritely. "I must always let people know I am quoting. That would make it better, at all events less bad, wouldn’t it, mother?" and she nestled fondly against her mother’s knee. "Well, go on, dearie." And Helen smiled to herself as she stroked the curly head. "What happened when Mr. Hamilton came in?" Thus encouraged, Hazel resumed the thread of her narrative. "Teddie says that Carrots blubbed pretty badly—mind, dear, I am quoting Teddie," the girl again interrupted herself, somewhat abashed to find that the tale seemed to fairly bristle with words of doubtful repute, "and, being a sneak, he instantly went and blabbed." "What is that?" Helen asked. "It is fortunate you don’t quote Teddie very often, Hazel."