MUTABILE SEMPER
"It's like this," I began stammeringly. "This bit of road here—up as far as that corner—you know it's a horrid dull bit of road. I'm always having to go up and down it, and I know it so well, and I'm so sick of it. So whenever I get to that corner, I just—well, I go right off to another place!"
"What sort of a place?" she asked, looking round her gravely.
"Of course it's just a place I imagine," I went on hurriedly and rather shamefacedly: "but it's an awfully nice place—the nicest place you ever saw. And I always go off there in church, or during joggraphy lessons."
"I'm sure it's not nicer than my home," she cried patriotically. "Oh, you ought to see my home—it's lovely! We've got —"
"Yes it is, ever so much nicer," I interrupted. "I mean"—I went on apologetically—"of course I know your home's beautiful and all that. But this must be nicer, 'cos if you want anything at all, you've only got to want it, and you can have it!"
"That sounds jolly," she murmured. "Tell
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