The aunt and the children talked, but it was not a real conversation. It was more like a battle with a small housefly which will not go away. When the aunt spoke to the children, she always began with "Don't… "When the children spoke to her, they always began with"Why…"The bachelor said nothing aloud.

It was a hot, airless afternoon. The train was slow and the next stop was nearly an hour away. The people in the train were hot and tired. There were three small children and their aunt, and a tall man, who was a bachelor. The bachelor did not know the little family, and he did not want to know them.

"Why is that man taking those sheep out of that field?" he asked suddenly.

The small boy opened his mouth and closed it again. It made an interesting little noise, so he did it again. Open. Close. Open. Close.

"Don't do that, Cyril," said the aunt. "Come and look out of the window." The boy closed his mouth and sat next to the window. He looked out at the green fields and trees.

"Perhaps he's taking them to another field where there is more grass," said the aunt. It was not a very good answer, and the boy knew it.

"I suppose the grass in the other field is better," answered the aunt.

The bachelor gave them an angry look. The aunt saw him. He's a hard, unkind man, she thought. He doesn't like children. She searched for a suitable answer to Cyril's question, but could not find one.

"But there is lots of grass in that field," he said. "The field is full of grass, Aunt. Why doesn't the man leave his sheep in that field?"

"Oh, look at those cows!" cried the aunt. There were cows in nearly all the fields along the railway line. Cyril did not look at the cows. He wanted an answer to his question.

"Why is it better?" asked Cyril at once.

"Why is the grass in the other field better?" he said again.

The smaller girl began to say some words from a song:

"On the road to Mandalay, where the happy children play," she began.

Then she stopped. She could not remember any more words, so she said the first words again, quietly but very clearly. Then she said them again. And again. And again.

The bachelor looked angrily at the girl, and then at the aunt.

The children moved slowly towards the aunt's seat. They already looked bored. Clearly, the aunt was not a famous story-teller.

"Come here and sit down quietly," the aunt said quickly to the children. "I'm going to tell you a story."

The story was horribly uninteresting. It was about a little girl. She was not a beautiful child, but she was always very, very good. Everybody loved her because she was good. Finally, she fell into a lake and her friends saved her because she was so good, and they loved her so much.

"Did they only save her because she was good?" asked the bigger girl. "Shouldn't we save bad people too, if they fall in to a lake?" The bachelor wanted to ask the same question, but he said nothing.

"That was the stupidest story that I've ever heard," said the bigger girl.

"Well, yes, we should," said the aunt. "But I'm sure the little girl's friends ran specially fast because they loved her so much."

"I didn't listen after the first few words," said Cyril, "because it was so stupid."

The smaller girl was already quietly repeating the words of her song for the twentieth time.

"You're not very successful as a story-teller," the bachelor said suddenly from his corner.

The aunt looked at him in angry surprise. "It's not easy to tell stories that children can understand," she answered coldly.

"I don't agree with you," said the bachelor.

"Perhaps you would like to tell them a story," said the aunt. She gave him a cold little smile.

"A long time ago," began the bachelor, "there was a little girl called Bertha, who was extraordinarily good. She always worked well at school. She always obeyed her teachers and her parents. She was never late, never dirty, and always ate all her vegetables. She was polite, she was tidy, and she never, never told lies."

"Yes -- tell us a story," said the bigger girl.

"No," said the bachelor. "She wasn't pretty. But she was horribly good."

"Was she pretty?" asked the smaller girl.

"Oh," said the children. They were beginning to look bored already.

"Horribly good. I like that!" said Cyril. The children began to look more interested. The words 'horrible' and 'good' together was a new idea for them, and it pleased them.

The aunt gave a little smile, and waited with interest for the bachelor's answer.

"Why weren't there any sheep?" asked Cyril at once.

"Horribly good," repeated Cyril happily.

"Bertha was always good," continued the bachelor. "Because she was so good, Bertha had three medals. There was the 'Never Late' medal. There was the 'Politeness' medal. And there was the medal for the 'Best Child in the World'. They were very large medals. Bertha always wore them on her dress, and they clinked as she walked along. She was the only child in her town who had three medals. So everybody knew that she must be an extra good child."

"Everybody talked about Bertha's goodness. The king of that country heard about her, and he was very pleased. 'Because Bertha is so good,' he said, 'she may come and walk in my palace gardens every Friday afternoon.' The king's gardens were famous. They were large and very beautiful, and children were usually forbidden to go in them."

"Were there any sheep in the palace gardens?" asked Cyril.

"No," said the bachelor, "there were no sheep."

"Was the king killed by a sheep, or by a clock?" asked the bigger girl.

"What colour were the pigs? asked the smaller glrl.

The bachelor stopped for a moment, while the children's imaginations took in these wonderful pictures. Then he went on again.

"There were no sheep in the king's gardens," explained the bachelor, "because the king's mother had once had a dream. In her dream a voice said to her," Your son will be killed by a sheep, or by a clock falling on him. "Thst is why the king never kept a sheep in his gardens or a clock in his palace."

The aunt thought secretly that this was a very clever answer, but she stayed silent.

"He is still alive," said the bachelor calmly, "so we don't know if the dream was true or not. But, although there were no sheep, there were lots of little pigs running around everywhere."

"Black with white faces, white with black faces, all balck, grey and white, and some were all white."

"Bertha was sorry that there were no flowers in the palace gardens. She had promised her aunts that she would not pick any of the kind king's flowers. She wanted very much to be good and to keep her promise. So she was very cross when she found that there were no flowers to pick."

"Why weren't there any flowers?"

The children thought that this was an excellent idea.

"There were lots of other wonderful things in the palace gardens," the bachelor continued. "There were lakes with gold and blue and green fish in them. There were trees with beautiful birds that could talk and say clever things. There were also birds that could sing popular songs."

"Most people choose flowers," said Cyril. He looked very pleased. "But of course, pigs are much better than flowers."

"Because the pigs had eaten them all," said the bachelor immediately. "The gardeners had told the king that he couldn't have pigs and flowers, because pigs eat flowers. So the king decided to have pigs, and no flowers."

"Well, on the first Friday afternoon in May, Bertha came to the king's gardens, the king's soldiers saw her beautiful white dress and her three medals for goodness, and they opened the doors to the gardens at once."

"Bertha walked up and down and enjoyed herself very much. As she walked along, the three medals on her beautiful white dress clinked against each other. She heard them clinking, and she thought: 'I'm here in these lovely gardens because I am the Best Child in the World.' She felt pleased and happy and very, very good."

"What colour was the wolf?" asked the children, who were listening to the story with great interest.

"Just then a very big, hungry wolf came into the gardens. It wanted to catch a fat little pig for its supper."

"Bertha saw the wolf and she wished she had not come to the gardens. Oh, why did I come here?" she thought. "All the bad children are safe at home. I wish I wasn't an extraordinarily good child! Then I could be safe at home too." She ran as hard as she could, and the wolf came after her on his long grey legs.

"He was grey," said the bachelor, "with a black tongue and angrg yellow eges. He had long black claws and big, strong, yellowish teeth. The wolf was hungry. He smelled the ground with his long grey nose. Then he saw Bertha's beautiful, clean white dress and began to move quietly towards her."

"At last Bertha mannged to reach some big, sweet smelling myrtle bushes, and she hid herself in the thickest bush. The wolf walked round and round the bushes, with his angry yellow eyes and his long blach tongue. But he couldn't see Bertha because the bushes were too thick, and he couldn't smell her because the smell of the myrtle was too strong. So after a while the wolf became bored, and decided to go and catch a little pig for his supper."

"The story began badly," said the smaller girl, "but it finished beautifully."

"Were any of the little pigs killed?" asked Cyril.

"Bertha was terribly frightened. Her heart beat very fast and her body shook with fear. Her arms shook and her legs shook. Her three medals for goodness shook too. And as they shook, they clinked together. The wolf was just moving away, when he heard the medals clinking, and he stopped to listen. The medals clinked again. The wolf's yellow eyes shone, and he ran into the myrtle bushes, pulled Bertha out, and ate her. He ate everything except her shoes, a few small pieces of her dress, and the three medals for goodness."

"It is the most beautiful story that I have ever heard," said the bigger girl.

The aunt did not agree. "It was a most improper story!" she said angrily. "You mustn't tell children stories like that! You have destroyed years of careful teaching."

"I feel sorry for that woman," thought the bachelor as he stepped down from the train at the next station. "What will people think when those children ask her for an improper story!"

"It is the only beautiful story I have ever heard," said Cyril.

"No, they all escaped."

"Well," said the bachelor. He put on his coat and picked up his bags. "The children sat still and were quiet for ten minutes while they listened to the story. And they didn't do that for you."