her, evidently, in common with the rest of her sex, destructive criticism of male endeavour was woman's true sphere in life. But when the despairing Freak, after submitting Mabel-Maud, Emily-Kate, Elizabeth-Jane, and Maria-Theresa, made a second pathetic appeal for assistance, the lady so far relented as to suggest "Seener Angler"--a form of address which, though neither bovine nor feminine, seemed to me to come naturally enough from the daughter of a Don, but caused Mr. and Mrs. Welwyn to exchange glances. At last the tale was completed,--I think the last cow was christened "Bishop's Stortford," through which station we were passing at the moment,--and the exhausted Freak smilingly laid down his pencil. But no one who has ever embarked upon that most comprehensive and interminable of enterprises, the entertainment of a child, will be surprised to hear that Miss Welwyn now laid a pudgy fore-finger upon the first cow, and enquired:-- "Where that cow going?" "Cambridge," answered The Freak after consideration. "Next one?" "London." "Next one?" Freak thought again. "Grandwich," he said. The round face puckered. "Not like it. Anuvver place!" "You think of one," said The Freak boldly. The small despot promptly named a locality which sounded like "Tumpiton," and passed on pitilessly to the next cow. "Where that one going?" she enquired. "It is n't going: it's coming back," replied The Freak, rather ingeniously. Strange to say, this answer appeared to satisfy the hitherto insatiable infant, and the game was abruptly abandoned. Picking up The Freak's pencil, Miss Welwyn projected a seraphic smile upon its owner.
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