es

   
   
    
  
 
  
    

    
  

“CARROTS.”

sure it would,” he got his books at once, and
“tried”’ even harder than usual.

But after lessons they had no heart to play,
and there was no “must” about that. By
bedtime they all looked worn out with crying
and the sort of strange excitement there is
about great sorrows — above all to children —
which is more exhausting than almost any-
thing.

“This will never do,” thought auntie.
“Hugh” (that was the name of Sybil’s father)
“will have reason to think I should have taken
his advice, and not told them, if they go on
like this.”

“Sybil,” she said, “Floss and Carrots will
make themselves ill before the next letter
comes. What can we do for them?”

Sybil shook her head despondently.
“T don’t know, mother dear,” she said}

 
       
       
        
     

“T've got out all my best things to please
them, but it’s no good.” She stood still for a
minute, then her face lightened up. “ Mother,”

 
   
    

she said, “s’posing you were to read aloud