Now, anyone who chanced to hear Miss Shedlock?[A] tell that same story will remember that the absurd rhyme gave great opportunity for expression, in its very repetition; each time that the fisherman came to the water’s edge his chagrin and unwillingness were greater, and his summons to the magic fish mirrored his feeling.  The jingle is foolish; that is a part of the charm.  But if the person who tells it feels foolish, there is no charm at all!  It is the same principle which applies to any assemblage:  if the speaker has the air of finding what he has to say absurd or unworthy of effort, the audience naturally tends to follow his lead, and find it not worth listening to.

Let me urge, then, take your story seriously.

Next, “take your time.”  This suggestion needs explaining, perhaps.  It does not mean license[A] to dawdle.  Nothing is much more annoying in a speaker than too great deliberateness[A] or than hesitation of speech.  But it means a quiet[A] realisation of the fact that the floor is yours, everybody wants to hear you, there is time[A] enough for every point and shade of meaning, and no one will think the story too long.  This mental attitude must underlie proper control of speed.  Never hurry.  A business-like leisure is the true attitude of the story-teller.

And the result is best attained by concentrating one’s attention on the episodes of the story.  Pass lightly, and comparatively swiftly, over the portions between actual episodes, but take all the time you need for the elaboration of those.  And above all, do not feel hurried.

The next suggestion is eminently plain and practical, if not an all too obvious one.  It is this:  if all your preparation and confidence fails you at the crucial moment, and memory plays the part of traitor in some particular,—­if, in short, you blunder on a detail of the story, never admit it.  If it was an unimportant detail which you misstated, pass right on, accepting whatever you said, and continuing with it; if you have been so unfortunate as to omit a fact which was a necessary link in the chain, put it in, later, as skilfully as you can, and with as deceptive an appearance of its being in the intended order; but never take the children behind the scenes, and let them hear the creaking of your mental machinery.  You must be infallible.  You must be in the secret of the mystery, and admit your audience on somewhat unequal terms; they should have no creeping doubts as to your complete initiation into the secrets of the happenings you relate.

Plainly, there can be lapses of memory so complete, so all-embracing, that frank failure is the only outcome; but these are so few as not to need consideration, when dealing with so simple material as that of children’s stories.  There are times, too, before an adult audience, when a speaker can afford to let his hearers be amused with him over a chance mistake.  But with children it is most unwise to break the spell