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to think a lot of it. Molly's uncle mentioned that the confounded egg had gone on to the confounded wall. He insisted upon showing her how he had done it; he had just flicked the napkin—like that. But what puzzled the maid was what master had aimed at.

Molly's uncle soon got into the habit of forming opinions about Molly. The day he found her hatpin for her he formed one. He found it quite easily, though certainly it met him half-way. The way you do it is to get out of a chair very hurriedly, and there it is all the time, under the hat.

Then there was the half-crown. Of course it couldn't be lost really. If everything else were turned out of the house on to the lawn, why there it would be—the one thing left. Her uncle found it for her when he tripped up over the wool; by pressing one eye on the floor he could see it with the other.

Before he fell he told her as quickly as he could that if she would always place the ball of wool in her lap it wouldn't get wrapped round her ankles' uncles: he then clutched at something he thought he saw in the air, missed it, did the exercise for strengthening the muscles of the back, taking your time from me, and delivered the ball with a break from the leg.

Molly's mother had said that her uncle would find her a bright little thing and very unselfish.

She was; she gave some chocolates to a man in the pit the evening her uncle took her to the pantomime.

Molly was in the front row of the dress circle at the time. They were cream chocolates, and when they hit they dum-dummed. The man in the pit looked up, rubbed his head and then looked at his fingers; he did it twice to make sure.

Molly's uncle said it might just as well have been the opera-glasses, but by that time the man had changed places with his wife; the same happy thought had occurred to him.

The man doesn't like chocolates that way. He looked up to say something he had thought of, but when he saw Molly's deeply repentant look, beseeching forgiveness, he just nodded and smiled. You see it is War-time.

When it is raining hard, it is waste of time to stand at the window barking at the weather. So Molly just let the canary out of the cage and spent the rest of the morning putting it back again.

It is no good climbing up the curtains as it does not come down when they do. Molly found this out quite early on, and then her uncle came to help her.

He said that if the wretched bird had not been let out of the wretched cage—and then rang for the cook.

Cook evidently knew the game quite well; in fact she almost as much as said her handicap was sixteen.

You do it with a step-ladder whilst someone holds your apron. Molly's uncle had never seen his cook standing on a step-ladder with a birdcage in one hand and a piece of sugar in the other, murmuring "Sweet, sweet."

He was interested.

In fact he tried to help by standing in the middle of the room holding a piece of groundsel over his head.

But this was too much for his liver. It took him on one side and said gently but firmly, "I've had enough of this,—do you hear me? Telegraph to the girl's mother at once, I say, and offer to change places with her. What's that you say? Bombs? Look here, dear old thing, you've lived with me long enough to know me; do you seriously think a German bomb would have the slightest effect upon me? I put it to you now as liver to man. Bombs indeed! I like that."

Molly saw her uncle off at the station: she said he was doing a noble deed. Her uncle smiled at her, and as the train was going out his liver actually waved his hand.

Private of Motor Cycle Corps. "Yes, Sir, I've a fine lot of kiddies at home, and no favourites among them. But of course we're more interested in the 1915 model than in the earlier ones."