This was very wrong, for you should always speak the truth, however unhappy it makes people.

And I generally do.

But I did not want him crying in the railway carriage.

The lady's piece of poetry: Oh when I wake up in my bed And see the sun all fat and red, I'm glad to have another day For all my different kinds of play.
There are so many things to do-- The things that make a man of you, If grown-ups did not get so vexed And wonder what you will do next.
I often wonder whether they Ever made up our kinds of play-- If they were always good as gold And only did what they were told.
They like you best to play with tops And toys in boxes, bought in shops; They do not even know the names Of really interesting games.
They will not let you play with fire Or trip your sister up with wire, They grudge the tea-tray for a drum, Or booby-traps when callers come.
They don't like fishing, and it's true You sometimes soak a suit or two: They look on fireworks, though they're dry, With quite a disapproving eye.
They do not understand the way To get the most out of your day: They do not know how hunger feels Nor what you need between your meals.
And when you're sent to bed at night, They're happy, but they're not polite.
For through the door you hear them say: '_He's_ done _his_ mischief for the day!' She told us a lot of other pieces but I cannot remember them, and she talked to us all the way up, and when we got nearly to Cannon Street she said-- 'I've got two new shillings here! Do you think they would help to smooth the path to Fame ?' Noel said, 'Thank you,' and was going to take the shilling.

But Oswald, who always remembers what he is told, said-- 'Thank you very much, but Father told us we ought never to take anything from strangers.' 'That's a nasty one,' said the lady--she didn't talk a bit like a real lady, but more like a jolly sort of grown-up boy in a dress and hat--'a very nasty one! But don't you think as Noel and I are both poets I might be considered a sort of relation?
You've heard of brother poets, haven't you?
Don't you think Noel and I are aunt and nephew poets, or some relationship of that kind ?' I didn't know what to say, and she went on-- 'It's awfully straight of you to stick to what your Father tells you, but look here, you take the shillings, and here's my card.