The tiny children's momentarily-aroused interest began at once to flicker; all stories seemed dreadfully alike, no matter who told them.

"She did all that she was told, she was always truthful, she kept her clothes clean, ate milk puddings as though they were jam tarts, learned her lessons perfectly, and was polite inside her manners."

"Was she pretty?" asked the giganticger of the tiny girls.

"Not as beautiful as any of you," exclaimed the bachelor, "but she was horribly good."

There was a wave of reaction in favour of the tale; the word horrible in connection with goodness was a novelty that commended itself. It seemed to introduce a ring of truth that was absent from the aunt's tales of infant life.

"She sometimes was so good," continued the bachelor, "that she won several medals for goodness, which she always wore, pinned on to her dress. There was a medal for obedience, another medal for punctuality, and a third for good behaviour. They were large metal medals and they clicked against one another as she walked. No other child in the city where she lived had as many as three medals, so everybody knew that she must be an extra good child."

"Horribly good," quoted Cyril.