"I don't know your mother, so how
can I tell how good she is?" said Griselda.
"I can tell you," said Phil, importantly. "She is just as good as—as good as—as good as good. That's what she is."
"You mean she couldn't be better," said Griselda, smiling.
"Yes, that'll do, if you like. Would that be good enough for us to be, do you think?"
"We must ask the cuckoo," said Griselda. "But I'm sure it would be a good thing for you to learn to read. You must ask your nurse to let you come here every afternoon that it's fine, and I'll ask my aunt."
"I needn't ask nurse," said Phil composedly; "she'll never know where I am, and I needn't tell her. She doesn't care what I do, except tearing my clothes; and when she scolds me, I don't care."
"That isn't good, Phil," said Griselda gravely. "You'll never be as good as good if you speak like that."
"What should I say, then? Tell me," said the little boy submissively.
"You should ask nurse to let you come to play with me, and tell her I'm much bigger than you, and I won't let you tear your clothes. And you should tell her you're very sorry you've torn them to-day."