which everything seemed to be perverse and go askew. It was a dark,
cold, rainy day in November, and going out had been impossible. The
elder boys had worried, and the younger ones had cried. It was
Saturday too, and the maids were scouring in all directions, waking
every echo in the back-premises by the grating of sand-stone on the
flags; and they had been a good deal discomposed by the family effort
to play at "Wolf" in the passages. Mamma had been at accounts all
the morning, trying to find out some magical corner in which expenses
could be reduced between then and the arrival of Christmas bills;
and, moreover, it was a half-holiday, and the children had, as they
call it, nothing to do.

So Nos. 6 and 7, who had been vexed about several other little
matters before, during the course of the day, broke out now on the
subject of the washing of their hands.

Aunt Judy was inexorable however--inexorable though cool; and the
rest got impatient at the delay which the debate occasioned: so,
partly by coaxing, and partly by the threat of being shut out from
hearing the story, Nos. 6 and 7 were at last prevailed upon to go up-
stairs and wash their grim little paws into that delicate shell-like
pink, which is the characteristic of juvenile fingers when clean.

As they went out, however, they murmured, in whimpered tones, that
they were sure it was VERY HARD!

After their departure, Aunt Judy requested the rest not to talk, and
a complete silence ensued, during which one or two of the youngest
evidently concluded that she was composing her story, for they stared
at her with all their might, as if to discover how she did it.