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But distaste for oneself does not suffice to alter one’s nature. Stacey did not perceive that his present musings had the same quality they disapproved of.

It was Carter who broke the silence—with a plaintive unconscious sigh.

Philip laughed, but his visitor started. “Oh, Carter, old chap,” he said remorsefully, “I forgot all about Jack and Jill! I’m ready now. Come on over.”

The child ran to him delightedly, all the ages and ages of tedious waiting forgotten at once; and Stacey took a postage stamp from his pocket, tore it carefully in half, and gummed the pieces to the nails of his two forefingers. Experience had taught him that stamps were safer than scraps of ordinary paper, which had an embarrassing way of coming off.

“Two little black-birds sitting on a hill,

One named Jack and one named Jill.

Fly away, Jack!—Fly away, Jill!

. . . . . .

Come back, Jack!—Come back, Jill!”

Stacey performed the magic trick over and over again, while Carter searched unavailingly for the birds’ hiding-place, sure that he would find it the next time, and Jack, not understanding but delighted none the less, trotted around tirelessly after his brother, and the November twilight crept in through the windows and darkened the room. Then it was time for the children to go to bed, and Catherine led them away, leaving the two men together.