The "new one" was a middle-aged English gentlewoman of the usual governess type. Isabelle knew the kind thoroughly. She had initiated whole companies of them into life at The Beeches. Miss Watts, this one was called. She was putting her things into bureau drawers, when Isabelle appeared at the door of the bathroom which joined their rooms. "Is this Isabelle?" inquired the new victim. The child nodded. "How do you do? I am Miss Watts." "I know." "I hope we are going to be friends----" "I never like governesses--only one." "Why did you like this one?" inquired Miss Watts. She was so used to the lack of manners in the children she taught, that this one seemed no worse than usual. "Because she was young and could swim and ride and tell me stories." "I'm too old to swim and ride, but I can tell stories." She went on with her unpacking. "What kinds of stories?" "All kinds. I know hundreds of stories. Can you read?" "I know letters, and 'cat' and 'rat,' but I can't read big books. Let's hear you tell a story." "I will, with pleasure, when I finish here." "But I want it now." "It will take me only a little while." "But I won't wait." Miss Watts became aware that this was the initial clash of arms. "No? Well, don't let me keep you then. Is that your room?" "If you don't do what I want, I'll yell so everybody in the house will come to see what's the matter." Miss Watts glanced at her and smiled. "That will be interesting," she said. Whereupon Isabelle opened her mouth and emitted long, loud shrieks. Miss Watts continued counting handkerchiefs. The howls grew more artificial in quality, but louder in volume. Isabelle grew red in the face. This was hard work. After about three minutes of bedlam Miss Watts remarked: "But where is the audience, Isabelle? I'm afraid you have cried 'Wolf! Wolf!' too often." Isabelle stopped long enough to shout: "I didn't cry 'Wolf!'" "No?" said Miss Watts, seating herself by the window. "I've finished now. Is your concert over?" The child stared at her. "Maybe you'd be interested in the story of the man who cried 'Wolf! Wolf!'" Isabelle smarted under a sense of defeat. "I won't have any stories now." "Very good. Of course, I only tell stories as a favour," she added, pointedly. The youngster went into her own room. Miss Watts heard her banging around in there. Presently she appeared again. "Why did the man cry 'Wolf! Wolf!'?" she demanded. "Sit down, and I'll tell you," answered Miss Watts, pleasantly. So the story was told, and the new relationship inaugurated which was to last for several years.