instead a look of profound learning, and begin: "Once there was a king
named Ajatasatru,"

The modern reader's curiosity, however, is not so easily satisfied. He
blinks at the author through his scientific spectacles, and asks again:
"Which Ajatasatru? "

"Every schoolboy knows," the author proceeds, "that there were three
Ajatasatrus. The first was born in the twentieth century B.C., and died
at the tender age of two years and eight months, I deeply regret that
it is impossible to find, from any trustworthy source, a detailed
account of his reign. The second Ajatasatru is better known to
historians. If you refer to the new Encyclopedia of History. . . ."

By this time the modem reader's suspicions are dissolved. He feels he
may safely trust his author. He says to himself: "Now we shall have a
story that is both improving and instructive."

Ah! how we all love to be deluded! We have a secret dread of being
thought ignorant. And we end by being ignorant after all, only we have
done it in a long and roundabout way.

There is an English proverb ; "Ask me no questions, and I will tell you
no lies." The boy of seven who is listening to a fairy story
understands that perfectly well; he withholds his questions, while the
story is being told. So the pure and beautiful falsehood of it all
remains naked and innocent as a babe; transparent as truth itself;
limpid as afresh bubbling spring. But the ponderous and learned lie of
our moderns has to keep its true character draped and veiled. And if
there is discovered anywhere the least little peep-hole of deception,