"Is that letter very funny?" asked Babs.
"It is not funny, but it is interesting to me."
"Do you love the person who wrote it to you?"
Miss Mills let the sheet of closely-written paper fall upon her lap; her eyes gazed into the child's serene and wise little face. Something impelled her to say words which she knew could not be understood.
"I hate the person who wrote that letter more than anyone else in all the world," she exclaimed.
There was a passionate ring in her thin voice. The emotion which filled her voice and shone out of her eyes gave pathos to her commonplace face. Babs began to pull a flower to pieces. She had never conjugated the verb to hate, and did not know in the least what it meant; but Judy looked at her governess with new interest.
"Why do you get letters from the person you hate so much?" she asked.
"Don't ask any more questions," replied Miss Mills. She folded up the sheet of paper, slipped it into its envelope, replaced the envelope in her pocket, and started to her feet. "Let us continue our walk," she said. "We shall reach the woods in five minutes if we are quick."
"But," said Judy, as they went down the path across the field, "I should like to know, Miss Mills, why you get letters from a person you hate."
"When little girls ask troublesome questions they must not expect them to be answered," responded Miss Mills.