"But all the same I know I've got something. It's a funny thing about my being worse in town than in the country. That looks rather as if--By Jove, I know what it is--I've got just the opposite of hay-fever." "What is the opposite of hay?" "Why, bricks and things." I gave a last sneeze and began to wrap up the cure. "Take this pollen stuff back," I said to Beatrice, "and ask the man if he's got anything homoeopathic made from paving-stones. Because, you know, that's what I really want." "You HAVE got a cold," said Beatrice. A MODERN CINDERELLA ONCE upon a time there was a beautiful girl who lived in a mansion in Park Lane with her mother and her two sisters and a crowd of servants. Cinderella, for that was her name, would have dearly loved to have employed herself about the house sometimes; but whenever she did anything useful, like arranging the flowers or giving the pug a bath, her mother used to say, "Cinderella! What DO you think I engage servants for? Please don't make yourself so common." Cinderella's two sisters were much older and plainer than herself, and their mother had almost given up hope about them, but she used to drag Cinderella to balls and dances night after night, taking care that only the right sort of person was introduced to her. There were many nights when Cinderella would have preferred a book at home in front of the fire, for she soon found that her partners' ideas of waltzing were as catholic as their conversation was limited. It was, indeed, this fondness for the inglenook that had earned her the name of Cinderella. One day, when she was in the middle of a delightful story, her mother came in suddenly and cried: "Cinderella! Why aren't you resting, as I told you? You know we are going to the Hogbins' to-night." "Oh, mother," pleaded Cinderella, "NEED I go to the dance?" "Don't be so absurd! Of course you're going!" "But I've got nothing to wear." "I've told Jennings what you're to wear. Now go and lie down. I want you to look your best to-night, because I hear that young Mr Hogbin is back again from Australia." Young Mr Hogbin was not the King's son; he was the son of a wealthy gelatine manufacturer. "Then may I come away at twelve?" begged Cinderella. "You'll come away when I tell you." Cinderella made a face and went upstairs. "Oh, dear," she thought to herself, "I wish I were as old as my two sisters, and could do what I liked. I'm sure if my godmother were here she would get me off going." But, alas! her godmother lived at Leamington, and Cinderella, after a week at Leamington, had left her there only yesterday. Cinderella indeed looked beautiful as they started for the ball; but her mother, who held a review of her in the drawing-room, was not quite satisfied. "Cinderella!" she said. "You know I said you were to wear the silver slippers!" "Oh, mother, they ARE so tight," pleaded Cinderella. "Don't you remember I told you at the time they were much too small for me?"