§^ The Scented Qarden (^ 



particular about a small boy, a little prince (whose name 

 was quite half a line long, but I can only recall it began 

 with K) who, as my great-aunt and I enviously agreed, 

 thought of more naughty things to do in a day than 

 either of us could contrive in a whole week. In the art of 

 telling the old fairy stories and Hans Andersen's immortal 

 tales she excelled. We all remember the type of kindly 

 grown-up who was ready enough to tell one stories but 

 seemed to be unable to tell the same story exactly the 

 same again. Out of consideration for their feelings one 

 tried not to show how unsatisfactory this was, but all the 

 time one had the unpleasant sensation that the ground 

 was slipping away from under one's feet. Whether it was 

 due to her love of the old stories, or because years of 

 practice had taught her (and I fancy it was the former), 

 my great-aunt could tell favourite stories over and over 

 again with never a word wrong. Most soothing those 

 tales were, and how gratefully those of us to whom she 

 so generously gave much of her valuable time remember 

 those happy hours. 



And I account it one of the privileges of my life to have 

 heard her read aloud from the Bible. Prayers were before 

 breakfast, but after breakfast it was her unfailing custom, 

 however busy she might be, and her life was a very busy 

 one indeed, to read some part of the Bible aloud. I can 

 see her reverently placing the Book on the small table by 

 her special chair and then when she had found the part 

 she wanted, she either read it, or, as frequently as not, 

 she removed her spectacles and with her hands clasped 

 before her, she would repeat by heart a chapter or so. It 

 was my firm belief in those days that she knew the whole 

 Bible by heart, and she certainly knew very large portions 

 182 



