them white. We don't like black servants. My mamma says niggers give her creeps."
Moti's large eyes flashed.
"My servant is good!" she cried indignantly. "Ever so good! And if your mamma has creeps at him, your mamma is a stupid."
"Why, Moti! what is the matter, dear?" asked her mother anxiously. The passionate tones of the childish voice had reached her ears. Moti rushed to her and burst into tears.
"He is a bad, bad, horrid boy," she cried; "he says Dilâl is a nigger, and that his mamma has creeps!"
The singular nature of this statement made the grown-up people laugh.
Only Mr. and Mrs. Fane understood that their Chatterbox of a son had repeated his mother's speech on the subject of Indian servants, and they exchanged glances of meaning.
"Goto the nursery, Bobby," said his
