_Pamela._ I calls it a mouf. He's eating wiv it. (_With increasing disfavour_) A poor little worm he's eating. Don't like him; he's crool. (_She turns the page hurriedly and continues_) C for Pussy; D for Mick. [_This is the name of the family mongrel. That the picture represents an absolutely thoroughbred collie matters nothing to_ Pamela. _She spends some time in admiring_ Mick, _then rapidly sweeps over certain illustrations that fail to attract._ _Pamela_ (_stopping at the sight of a web-footed fowl, triumphantly_). G for Quack-quack. _Her Father._ Oh, come, Pamela, that's not a quack-quack; that's a goose. It makes quite a different noise. [_Anticipating an immediate demand for a goose's noise he clears his throat nervously._ _Pamela_ (_with authority_). This one isn't making any noise. It's jus' thinking. (_Her father accepts the correction and swallows again._) H for Gee-gee. Stupid gee-gee. _Her Father._ Why stupid? _Pamela._ 'Acos its tail looks silly. _Her Father_ (_glancing at the tail, which bears some resemblance to an osprey's feather_). You're right; it does. _Her Mother._ I wonder whether it's wrong to let children get accustomed to bad drawings? _Her Father._ Pamela doesn't get accustomed--she criticises. If it weren't for a silly tail here, a stupid face there, her critical faculty might lie for ever dormant. _Pamela_ (_having turned over four or five pages with one grasp of the hand, as if determined to suppress the unsatisfactory horse_). R for Bunny. _Her Mother._ No, dear, Rabbit. R for _R_abbit. B for _B_unny. _Pamela_ (_gently_). No; B is for Dicky. The ugly dicky wiv the blue mouf. _Her Father_ (_rashly_). The blackbird. _Pamela_ (_conscious of superior knowledge_). That isn't its name. That's what it looks like, all black; but its name is Dicky. B for Dicky. _Her Father._ Well, have it your own way. What does S stand for? _Pamela_ (_turning to the likeness of an elderly quadruped, with great assurance_). Baa-lamb! _Her Father._ Sometimes we call baa-lambs sheep. _Pamela._ I don't. _Her Father._ You will when you grow older. _Pamela._ I won't be any older, not for ever so long. Not till next birfday. (_Pushing her book away and assuming an air of extreme infancy_) Tired of reading. Want a piggy-back, _please_! _Her Father_ (_firmly taking up his review again_). Not just now. I'm busy with a picture-book. [_A reproachful silence falls upon the room._ _Pamela_ (_presently, in a mournful chant_). A for Don-key. B for Dicky-- _The Scene closes._ * * * * * [Illustration: THE PRINCE COMES HOME.] * * * * * [Illustration: MORE OUTLINES OF HISTORY. _Sailor._ "WE HAVE JUST SEEN SOME ORANGE-PEEL AND BANANA-SKINS FLOATING ON THE STARBOARD, SIR." _Columbus._ "WAS THERE ANY CHEWING-GUM?" _Sailor._ "NO, SIR."