Kitty, the youngest child, was still shy about speaking when she was told to, though she could rattle away twenty to the dozen when not invited to give her opinion, or even when told to shut up. This very day she gave us an example of her particular kind of obstinacy. She badly wanted some more cake and didn't want to ask politely for it, because that would be letting Fraülein know that she _did_ want it. Fraülein knew that. She said: 'Now, Kiddy'--that was the way she pronounced Kitty--'you can have that piece of cake as soon as you say, "Yes, please." Kiddy, do you want it?' Kitty nodded. 'Well, you can have it if you will only say, "Yes, please," and if you won't say, "Yes, please," Kiddy--well, then, you can go wizout.' Kitty began to cry gently. 'You little silly,' said Rosamond, 'if you really do want the bun, why can't you say what you are wanted to say? What is there in it after all? Yes please, yes please, yes please--I can go on for ever.' 'Pray don't,' said Fraülein. 'Now, Kiddy--' 'I _will_ say it, Fraülein, I _will_ really,' Kitty cried. 'Well, then, say it.' 'I can't.' 'Very well, then, go wizout.' Kitty began to turn on the waterworks and Rosamond pinched her severely. 'I _am_ going to say it; take away your hand,' declared Kitty at last. So they held out the plate to her and said solemnly, 'Will you have this bun?' and Kitty sold them all a good deal, for she opened her mouth and said: 'No, thank you.' That was exactly what a cat would have done in her place. That child is like a cat in some other ways, she spoils property. I don't suppose her teeth meet in things exactly, but her fingers are as sharp as claws any day. When Auntie May came in a few moments later, having got rid of Mr. Fox, I heard some more about Rosamond's famous doll Wilhelmina. It appears that Kitty had once had a delightful toy, an old woman who lived in a shoe with her ten children, and that after she had had it a month Kitty undressed all the children and stripped them to see if any of them had measles or not. She then lost their clothes, or used them for something else, painting rags, I believe, so the old woman had to keep all her children in the toe for decency. We talked about the old woman for a long time, and then--I suppose Auntie May had forgotten about the fate of the doll, for she turned to Rosamond and asked her what had become of Wilhelmina? To my great surprise Rosamond, who is thirteen and hardly ever cries, burst into tears and spilt all the tea out of her mouth on to the tablecloth. 'Wilhelmina died,' said Kitty hastily. 'Poor thing!' 'Don't _you_ pity her, _you_ murdered her,' sobbed Rosamond. 'Oh, Auntie May, she broke her and pulled her all to sticks and streaks, and she had been all through scarlet fever with me--' 'And she had been _defected_, she had,' said Kitty, tremendously interested.