"It's all right," she replied slowly. "You must not let them trouble you. They make so much noise."
"No, no," I protested. "I enjoy it. I am fond of children, very fond. They are nice little boys."
They stood on either side of me, clutching at my coat, subdued by the conversation.
"You have not any children?" she asked, looking at them. I shook my head.
"I am a bachelor," I replied, "I am sorry to say."
"That accounts for it," she commented, raising her eyes to mine. I agreed.
"Possibly," I said. "None the less I like them. I suppose," I added, "they ought to be at school."
"There is measles everywhere in the school," she informed me. "I do not want it yet."
"Mr. Carville," I said, seizing an opening, "told me he did not believe in school."
"That is right," she answered. "He don't see the use of them. Nor me," she concluded thoughtfully.