A wail from Wilfred and a scowl from Harold were all the answer she received from them. But her uncle caught at the suggestion eagerly.
"Oh, that would be very kind of Cousin May," he said. "A pretty story! You'll like that, won't you?"
"No, I shan't! I want to go with papa," grumbled Harold.
"I want to go wis papa," sobbed Wilfred.
"It is always so when monsieur comes to the nursery," said the Swiss, coolly going on with her sewing. "The children are so fond of monsieur."
"Poor little fellows!" cried May.
Then kneeling down beside her uncle, she began softly to stroke Wilfred's hair, and to speak to him coaxingly. After a while, the child glanced shyly into her face, and ceased to sob. Presently he allowed himself to be transferred from his father's knee to May's. The Noah's Ark was brought into requisition. May ranged its inmates—all more or less dilapidated—on the floor, and began to perform a drama with them, making each animal's utterances in an appropriate voice. A smile dawned on Wilfred's pale little face, and Harold drew near to look and listen with evident interest.
"Now, Uncle Frederick, if you have to go out, I will stay and play with the children, until lesson-time. They are going to be very good now; ain't you, boys?"
"Ve'y good now," assented Wilfred, his attention still absorbed by the Noah's Ark animals.
"Well, if you'll make the pig grunt again, I will be good," said Harold, with a Bismarckian mastery of the do ut des principle.