young, he thought he might treat himself to a taste of urban joys

and la vie de Boheme. Shops came first, of course, and he
flattened his nose successively against the window with the

india-rubber balls in it, and the clock-work locomotive; and
against the barber's window, with wigs on blocks, reminding him

of uncles, and shaving-cream that looked so good to eat; and the
grocer's window, displaying more currants than the whole British

population could possibly consume without a special effort; and
the window of the bank, wherein gold was thought so little of

that it was dealt about in shovels. Next there was the market-
place, with all its clamorous joys; and when a runaway calf came

down the street like a cannon-ball, Harold felt that he had
not lived in vain. The whole place was so brimful of excitement

that he had quite forgotten the why and the wherefore of his
being there, when a sight of the church clock recalled him to his

better self, and sent him flying out of the town, as he realised
he had only just time enough left to get back in. If he were

after his appointed hour, he would not only miss his high
triumph, but probably would be detected as a transgressor of

bounds,--a crime before which a private opinion on multiplication
sank to nothingness. So he jogged along on his homeward way,

thinking of many things, and probably talking to himself a good
deal, as his habit was, and had covered nearly half the distance,

when suddenly--a deadly sinking in the pit of his stomach--a
paralysis of every limb--around him a world extinct of light and

music--a black sun and a reeling sky--he had forgotten the tea-
things!

It was useless, it was hopeless, all was over, and nothing could
now be done; nevertheless he turned and ran back wildly, blindly,

choking with the big sobs that evoked neither pity nor comfort
from a merciless mocking world around; a stitch in his side,

dust in his eyes, and black despair clutching at his heart. So
he stumbled on, with leaden legs and bursting sides, till--as if

Fate had not yet dealt him her last worst buffet--on turning a
corner in the road he almost ran under the wheels of a dog-cart,

in which, as it pulled up, was apparent the portly form of Farmer
Larkin, the arch-enemy, whose ducks he had been shying stones at

that very morning!
Had Harold been in his right and unclouded senses, he would have

vanished through the hedge some seconds earlier, rather than pain
the farmer by any unpleasant reminiscences which his appearance

might call up; but as things were, he could only stand and
blubber hopelessly, caring, indeed, little now what further ill

might befall him. The farmer, for his part, surveyed the
desolate figure with some astonishment, calling out in no

unfriendly accents, "Why, Master Harold! whatever be the matter?
Baint runnin' away, be ee?"

Then Harold, with the unnatural courage born of desperation,
flung himself on the step, and climbing into the cart, fell in

the straw at the bottom of it, sobbing out that he wanted to go
back, go back! The situation had a vagueness; but the

farmer, a man of action rather than words, swung his horse round
smartly, and they were in the town again by the time Harold had

recovered himself sufficiently to furnish some details. As they
drove up to the shop, the woman was waiting at the door with the

parcel; and hardly a minute seemed to have elapsed since the
black crisis, ere they were bowling along swiftly home, the

precious parcel hugged in a close embrace.
And now the farmer came out in quite a new and unexpected light.

Never a word did he say of broken fences and hurdles, of trampled
crops and harried flocks and herds. One would have thought the

man had never possessed a head of live stock in his life.
Instead, he was deeply interested in the whole dolorous quest of

the tea-things, and sympathised with Harold on the disputed point
in mathematics as if he had been himself at the same stage of

education. As they neared home, Harold found himself, to his
surprise, sitting up and chatting to his new friend like man to

man; and before he was dropped at a convenient gap in the garden
hedge, he had promised that when Selina gave her first public

tea-party, little Miss Larkin should be invited to come and
bring ha whole sawdust family along with her; and the farmer

appeared as pleased and proud as if he hat been asked to a
garden-party at Marlborough House. Really, those Olympians have

certain good points, far down in them. I shall have to leave off
abusing them some day.

At the hour of five, Selina, having spent the afternoon searching
for Harold in all his accustomed haunts, sat down disconsolately

to tea with her dolls, who ungenerously refused to wait beyond
the appointed hour. The wooden tea-things seemed more chipped

than usual; and the dolls themselves had more of wax and sawdust,
and less of human colour and intelligence about them, than she

ever remembered before. It was then that Harold burst in, very
dusty, his stockings at his heels, and the channels ploughed by

tears still showing on his grimy cheeks; and Selina was at last
permitted to know that he had been thinking of her ever since his

ill-judged exhibition of temper, and that his sulks had not been
the genuine article, nor had he gone frogging by himself. It was

a very happy hostess who dispensed hospitality that evening to a
glassy-eyed stiff-kneed circle; and many a dollish

gaucherie, that would have been severely checked on ordinary
occasions, was as much overlooked as if it had been a birthday.

But Harold and I, in our stupidmasculine way, thought all her
happiness sprang from possession of the long-coveted tea-

service.
"LUSISTI SATIS "

Among the many fatuous ideas that possessed the Olympian noddle,
this one was pre-eminent; that, being Olympians, they could talk

quite freely in our presence on subjects of the closest import to
us, so long as names, dates, and other landmarks were ignored.

We were supposed to be denied the faculty for putting two and two
together; and, like the monkeys, who very sensibly refrain from

speech lest they should be set to earn their livings, we were
careful to conceal our capabilities for a simple syllogism. Thus

we were rarely taken by surprise, and so were considered by our
disappointed elders to be apathetic and to lack the divine

capacity for wonder.
Now the daily output of the letter-bag, with the mysterious

discussions that ensued thereon, had speedily informed us that
Uncle Thomas was intrusted with a mission,--a mission, too,

affecting ourselves. Uncle Thomas's missions were many and
various; a self-important man, one liking the business while

protesting that he sank under the burden, he was the missionary,
so to speak, of our remotehabitation. The matching a ribbon,

the running down to the stores, the interviewing a cook,--these
and similar duties lent constant colour and variety to his vacant

life in London and helped to keep down his figure. When the
matter, however, had in our presence to be referred to with nods

and pronouns, with significant hiatuses and interpolations in the
French tongue, then the red flag was flown, the storm-cone

hoisted, and by a studious pretence of inattention we were not
long in plucking out the heart of the mystery.

To clinch our conclusion, we descended suddenly and together on
Martha; proceeding, however, not by simple inquiry as to facts,--

that would never have done,--but by informing her that the air
was full of school and that we knew all about it, and then

challenging denial. Martha was a trusty soul, but a bad witness
for the defence, and we soon had it all out of her. The word had

gone forth, the school had been selected; the necessary
sheets were hemming even now; and Edward was the designated and

appointed victim.
It had always been before us as an inevitable bourne, this

strange unknown thing called school; and yet--perhaps I should
say consequently--we had never seriously set ourselves to

consider what it really meant. But now that the grim spectre
loomed imminent, stretching lean hands for one of our flock, it

behoved us to face the situation, to take soundings in this
uncharted sea and find out whither we were drifting.

Unfortunately, the data in our possession were absolutely
insufficient, and we knew not whither to turn for exact

information. Uncle Thomas could have told us all about it, of