“CARROTS.”

lowing winter were alluded to, I always said

one thing; “Wherever you go, mamma, don’t

go to St. Austin’s.”

My mother gave in to me. When did she
not? How patient she was with me, how
sympathizing, even in my fancies, and how
unselfish! It was not till long after we had
left St. Austin’s that she told me what anxiety
she had gone through on hearing of my having
kissed little Dot. For how sadly probable it
seemed that Doll had died of some infectious
illness, such as scarlet-fever, for instance, which
I had never had.

“But Dot couldn’t have been ill, mamma,”
I said. “Dot looked perfectly well.”

“Did he?” said my mother. Sometimes

 

 

she called the trots “he’’ and sometimes “ she,”
in the funniest way! “I wonder what the other
little dear died of ?”
“So do I,” I replied. “Still, on the whole,
J think I am just as well pleased not to know.”
Our uncertainty for the next winter ended

in what was to me a delightful decision. We

 

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