"Gave me quite a turn, Major," said my esteemed friend, fanning herself
with a plate. "Thought he was light-headed!"

"In those remarkable times, Gran and godfather, there was once a boy,--not
me, you know."

"No, no," says my respected friend, "not you. Not him, Major, you
understand?"

"No, no," says I.

"And he went to school in Rutlandshire--"

"Why not Lincolnshire?" says my respected friend.

"Why not, you dear old Gran? Because _I_ go to school in Lincolnshire,
don't I?"

"Ah, to be sure!" says my respected friend. "And it's not Jemmy, you
understand, Major?"

"No, no," says I.

"Well!" our boy proceeded, hugging himself comfortably, and laughing
merrily (again in confidence with the fire), before he again looked up in
Mrs. Lirriper's face, "and so he was tremendously in love with his
schoolmaster's daughter, and she was the most beautiful creature that
ever was seen, and she had brown eyes, and she had brown hair all curling
beautifully, and she had a delicious voice, and she was delicious
altogether, and her name was Seraphina."