"There was once a balloon," I said rapidly, "a dear little boy balloon, I mean toy balloon, and this balloon was a jolly little balloon just two minutes old, and he wasn't always asking silly questions, and when he fell down and exploded himself they used to wring him out and say, 'Come, come, now, be a little airship about it,' and so----" "What's 'at?" asked Margery, pointing to the top button. There was only one way out of it. I began to sing a carol in a very shrill voice. All the artist rose in Margery. "Don't sing," she said hurriedly. "Margie sing. What will Margie sing, uncle?" Before I could suggest anything, she was off. It was a scandalous song. She began by announcing that she wanted to be among the boys, and (guessing that I should object) assured me that it was no good kicking up a noise, because it was no fun going out when there weren't any boys about, you were so lonely-onely-onely ... Here the tune became undecided; and, a chance word recalling another context to her mind, she drifted suddenly into a hymn, and sang it with the same religious fervour as she had sung the other, her fair head flung back and her hazel eyes gazing into heaven ... I listened carefully. This was a bit I didn't recognise.... The tune wavered for a moment ... and out of it these words emerged triumphant, "Talk of me to the boys you meet, Remember me kindly to Regent Street, And give them my love in the----" "What's 'at, uncle?" "That," I said, stroking it, "is dear uncle's nose." "What's----" By the way, would you like it all over again? No? Oh, very well. AFTERNOON SLEEP "In the afternoon they came unto a land In which it seemed always afternoon." I am like Napoleon in that I can go to sleep at any moment; I am unlike him (I believe) in that I am always doing so. One makes no apology for doing so on Sunday afternoon--the apology, indeed, should come from the others, the wakeful parties. "Uncle?" "Margery." "Will you come and play wiv me?" "I'm rather busy just now," I said, with closed eyes. "After tea." "Why are you raver busy just now? My baby's only raver busy sometimes." "Well, then, you know what it's like; how important it is that one shouldn't be disturbed." "But you must be beturbed when I ask you to come and play wiv me." "Oh, well ... what shall we play at?" "Trains," said Margery eagerly. When we play trains I have to be a tunnel. I don't know if you have ever been a tunnel? No; well, it's an over-rated profession. "We won't play trains," I announced firmly, "because it's Sunday." "Why not because it's Sunday?" (Oh, you little pagan!) "Hasn't mummy told you all about Sunday?" "Oh yes, Maud did tell me," said Margery casually. Then she gave an innocent little smile. "Oh, I called mummy Maud," she said in pretended surprise. "I quite _fought_ I was upstairs!"