"For my part," say I, resolutely pinching my lips together as I kneel on
the carpet, and violently hammer the now cold and hard taffy with the
handle of the poker, which in its day has been put to many uses vile, "I
can tell you that I shall not dine with you to-night: I should
infallibly say something to father--something unfortunate--I feel it
rising; and it would be unseemly to have one of our _émeutes_ before
this old gentleman, would not it?"

"They are nice breezy things when you are used to them," says Barbara,
laughing; "but one requires to be brought up to them."

"Do not you dine either, Brat," say I, looking up, and waving the poker
with suave command at him, "and we will broil bones for tea, and roast
potatoes on the shovel."

"Some of you must dine," says poor mother, rather wearily, "or your
father--"

"He cannot complain if we send our two specimen ones," say I, again
looking up, and indicating Barbara and Algy with my weapon, "our sample
figs: if Sir Robert--Sir Robin--Sir Roger--what is he?--does not see the
rest of us, he may perhaps imagine that we are all equally presentable,
which would be more to your credit, mother, than if Bobby and Tou Tou
and I were to be submitted to the poor old thing's notice."

Mother looks rather at sea.

"What are you talking about? What poor old thing? Oh! I understand."

"He will have to see us," says Tou Tou, rather lugubriously, "he cannot