lonely—really—really—really so that it gives you a hollow feeling?"

He sat up and shook his tears away so that they splashed all about— something like rain.

"Yes," he answered, "to tell the truth I am—I do like Society. I want friends and neighbors—and I don't only want them for dessert, I am a sociable Lion and am affectionate in my nature—and clinging. And people run as fast as they can the moment they hear my voice." And he quite choked with the lump in his throat.

"Well," I snapped, "what else do you expect?" That overcame him and he broke into another sob. "I expect kindness," he said, "and invitations to afternoon teas—and g–g–arden parties——"

"Well you won't get them," I interrupted, "If you don't change your ways. If you eat afternoon teas and garden parties as though they were lettuce sandwiches, you can't expect to be invited to them. So you may as well go back to the desert or the jungle and live with Lions and give up Society altogether."

"But ever since I was a little tiny Lion—a tiny, tiny one—I have wanted to get into Society. I will change—I will! Just tell me what to do. And do sit on my ear and talk down it and stroke it. It feels so comfortable and friendly."

You see he had forgotten that he had meant to chew me up. So I began to give him advice.

"The first things you will have to do will be to change your temper and your heart and your diet, and stop growling and roaring when you are not pleased.'

"I'll do that, I'll do that," he said ever so quickly. "You don't want me to cut my mane and tail off, do you?"

"No. You are a handsome Lion and beauty is much admired." Then I snuggled quite close up to his ear and said down it, "Did you ever think how nice a Lion would be if—if he were much nicer?"

"N–no," he faltered.

"Did you ever think how like a great big cozy lovely dog you are? And how nice your big fluffy mane would be for little girls and boys to cuddle in, and how they could play with you and pat you and hug you and go to sleep with their heads on your shoulder and love you and adore you—if you only lived on Breakfast Foods and things— and had a really sweet disposition?"

He must have been rather a nice Lion because that minute he began to look "kind of smiley round the mouth and teary round the lashes"—which is part of a piece of poetry I once read.

"Oh! Aunt Maria!" he exclaimed a little slangily. "I never thought of that: it would be nice."

"A Lion could be the coziest thing in the world—if he would," I went on.

He jumped up in the air and danced and kicked his hind legs for joy.

"Could he! Could he! Could he?" he shouted out. "Oh! let me be a Cozy Lion! Let me be a Cozy Lion! Hooray! Hooray! Hooray! I would like it better than being invited to Buckingham Palace!"

"Little children would just flock to see you and play with you," I said. "And then if they came, their mothers and fathers couldn't be kept away. They would flock too."

The smile of joy that spread over his face actually reached his ears and almost shook me off.

"That would be Society!" he grinned.

"The very best!" I answered. "Children who are real darlings, and not imitations, come first, and then mothers and fathers—the rest just straggle along anywhere."

"When could it begin? When could it begin?" he panted out.

"Not," I said very firmly, "until you have tried some Breakfast Food!"

"Where shall I get it? Oh! Where? Oh! Where?"

"I will get it, of course," was my answer.

Then I