Margaret-Mary entranced by one small bunny with a splash of white for a cotton tail, sang, “Pitty sing, pitty sing.”

“They don’t weally lay eggs, do they?” Teddy ventured.

“I wouldn’t ask such questions if I were you, Teddy.”

“Why not?”

“Because you might find out that they didn’t lay eggs, and then you’d feel terribly disappointed.”

“Well, isn’t it better to know?”

Jean shook her head.  “I’m not sure—­it’s nice to think that they do lay eggs—­blue ones and red ones and those lovely purple ones, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“And if they don’t lay them, who does?”

“Hens,” said Teddy, rather unexpectedly, “and the rab-yits steal them.”

“Who told you that?”

“Hodgson.  And she says that she ties them up in rags and the colors come off on the eggs.”

“Well, I wouldn’t listen to Hodgson.”

“Why not?  I like to listen.”

“Because she hasn’t any imagination.”

“What’s ’magination?”

They were getting in very deep.  Jean gave it up.  “Ask your mother, Teddy.”

So Teddy sought his unfailing source of information.  “What’s ’magination, Mother.”

“It is seeing things, Teddy, with your mind instead of your eyes.  When I tell you about the poor little children in France who haven’t any food or any clothes except what the Red Cross gives them, you don’t really see them with your eyes, but your mind sees them, and their cold little hands, and their sad little faces—­”

“Yes.”  He considered that for a while, then swept on to the things over which his childish brain puzzled.

“Mother, if the Germans get to Paris what will happen?”

He saw the horror in her face.

“Do you hate the Germans, Mother?”

“My darling, don’t ask me.”

After he had gone downstairs, Margaret got out her prayer-book, and read the prayers for the day.

“Oh, merciful God, who hast made all men and hatest nothing that thou hast made, nor desirest the death of a sinner, but rather that he should be converted and live, have mercy on all Jews, Turks, infidels and heretics, and take from them all ignorance, hardness of heart, and contempt of Thy word, and so fetch them home, blessed Lord, to Thy flock, that they may be saved—­”

She shut the book.  No, she could not go on.  She did not love her enemies.  She was not in the least sure that she wanted the Germans to be saved!

On Easter morning, however, Teddy was instructed to pray for his enemies.  “We mustn’t have hate in our hearts.”

“Why mustn’t we, Mother?”

“Well, Father wouldn’t want it.  We hate the evil they do, but we must pray that they will be shown their wickedness and repent.”

“If they re-pyent will they stop fighting?”

“My dearest, yes.”

“How would they stop?”