charm, or the best part of it; they are at their best as a rule from
five to seven, after which begins a slow, almost imperceptible decline
(or evolution, if you like) until the change is complete. The charm in
decline was not good enough for Lewis Carroll; the successive little
favourites, we learn, were always dropped at about ten. That was the
limit. Perhaps he perceived, with a rare kind of spiritual sagacity
resembling that of certain animals with regard to approaching weather-
changes, that something had come into their heart, or would shortly
come, which would make them no longer precious to him. But that which
had made them precious was not far to seek: he would find it elsewhere,
and could afford to dismiss his Alice for the time being from his heart
and life, and even from his memory, without a qualm.

To my seven-years' rule there are, however, many exceptions--little
girls who keep the child's charm in spite of the changes which years
and a newly developing sense can bring to them. I have met with some
rare instances of the child being as much to us at ten as at five.

One instance which I have in my mind just now is of a little girl of
nine, or perhaps nearly ten, and it seemed to me in this case that this
new sense, the very quality which is the spoiler of the child-charm,
may sometimes have the effect of enhancing it or revealing it in a new
and more beautiful aspect.

I met her at Cromer, where she was one of a small group of five
visitors; three ladies, one old, the others middle-aged, and a middle-
aged gentleman. He and one of the two younger ladies were perhaps her
parents, and the elderly lady her grandmother. What and who these
people were I never heard, nor did I enquire; but the child attracted
me, and in a funny way we became acquainted, and though we never