"Oh, I don't know; it just came!" said Nina, modestly. "I'm rather fond of making up tales." "There's only one thing," said Connie. "Wasn't the lady rather sorry when her father was stabbed to the heart, even if he had shut her up in a dungeon? I should be." "I don't think people minded in the Middle Ages," said Nina. "You see, somebody had to get killed, and she liked the knight best." "But her own father!" objected Connie. "I'm going to read the next one now," said Marian, who, as President, felt bound to keep the peace. "I think Nina's story's very good, and makes a capital beginning. This one seems much shorter. It's called: MOST HASTE, LEAST SPEED By GWENDOLEN WOODHOUSE Matilda Jane was a girl who was always in a hurry. One day her grandmother told her to take the bucket and fetch some water from the well, but to be sure to tie her boot lace first. Now Matilda Jane wanted to be very quick, so that she might go and play, and she did not stop to tie her boot lace. As she ran out of the door, she tripped over it and fell. The bucket rolled from her hand and hit the dog; the dog howled and made the geese cackle; the geese cackling made the pigs grunt; the pigs grunting frightened the hens into the field; the hens frightened the cow, which began to run; when the horse saw the cow running, it ran too, and they both jumped over the hedge into the road; then the hens flew after the horse and the cow, and the pigs went after the hens, and the geese followed the pigs, and the dog chased the geese, and it took Matilda Jane and her grandmother the whole afternoon to drive them back, and all because she had been in too great a hurry to tie her boot lace. The moral of this tale is 'Most haste, least speed!'" The girls laughed. "I don't generally like stories with a moral," said Brenda, "but I don't mind this one at any rate. Go on, Marian!" "The next is a piece of poetry," said Marian. THE KITTENS' CHORUS By SYLVIA LINDSAY Miew! Miew! Miew! Miew! We want to catch mice, we do, we do! But our mother, the old white cat, Says we are rather too young for that. Miew! Miew! Miew! Miew! We want to catch flies, we do, we do! But our mother says that if we do it We'll grow so thin that we soon shall rue it! Miew! Miew! Miew! Miew! We want to catch mother's tail we do! But she says she is not such a common cat As to let her kits be so pert as that. Miew! Miew! Miew! Miew! We want to be good, we do, we do! But that's much harder to do than to say, So we'll think about that another day. The poem proved so popular that Marian had to read it over again. It was the first time that the class had heard any of Sylvia's effusions, and they were quite impressed. "I'm afraid mine will seem very stupid after it," said Brenda. "I couldn't think of anything to write, but I was obliged to put something."