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pitable rapture, and in six months had inoculated every infant in the neighborhood with the germs of her abnormal capacity for mischief. It was Hildegarde and the model child of the region, little Mabel Harlowe, who painted their small bodies bright green and yellow, and called on all the neighbors with no other covering. It was Hildegarde and Johnnie Garside, a youth of great promise, who buried Josie Reed, "to learn a funeral," as they subsequently explained to Professor Seymour. On the black list of those who dropped Archie Beveridge into the cistern to see if he could "whim like wittle ducks" (and incidentally learned that he could not), the name of Hildegarde "led all the rest." After each of these and various other exploits, Professor Seymour talked earnestly with his daughter. It was, so far as it went, an uplifting and inspiring discourse, but subject to interruptions. The attention of the professor wandered after five minutes or so, and Hildegarde invariably went to sleep. She plainly regarded her father's lap as a comfortable road-house on the way to dreamland. Thus Mademoiselle Verrier, who in the beginning had appealed to parental authority with something like confidence, grew accustomed to the picture that usually met her eyes after these parental sessions were ended. In her father's arms Hildegarde slept the innocent sleep of childhood, and on her curly head rested a book, over which the professor pored with his near-sighted eyes close to its pages. Under these conditions there seemed nothing for a discouraged nursery governess to do but put the child to bed and make yearning appeals to heaven.

"I really have reasoned with her most seriously, mademoiselle," the professor said, apologetically, on one of these occasions, "but I fear I have not the power to interest her. I begin to think we may find it necessary to put her on a leash, or something of that kind!" He hesitated, then glanced at the Frenchwoman with an unusual diffidence of expression.

"Am I wrong," he asked, slowly, "in imagining that, notwithstanding these exploits, she is daily becoming more interesting, more worthy of study and attention, more—er—lovable?"

The white teeth of the governess flashed in her characteristic smile.

"But no, Professor," she replied, quickly. "She has great charm. She has also many qualities—of a beauty! She cries not, she sulks not, she tells the truth, she is generous—she would give all away, everything. But—pardon—if I might suggest, it is that she openly have the playmates, the little boys and girls who creep under the hedges now. Also that she have the childish stories, the fairies, all the interests of children, and the normal life of the child. And also, Professor, pardon again, that she have—perhaps—occasionally—the so little spanking which is so good a thing!"

The thin lips of the professor set in a straight line.

I cannot agree with you, madem-