"Ho, ho, ho! Dog my cats!" mysteriously, to bring luck. Then, stealing
back, he had opened his mother's wardrobe, and taken a long sniff which
seemed to bring him nearer to--he didn't know what.

He had done this just before he stood in the streak of sunlight,
debating in which of the several ways he should slide down the
banisters. They all seemed silly, and in a sudden languor he began
descending the steps one by one. During that descent he could remember
his father quite distinctly--the short grey beard, the deep eyes
twinkling, the furrow between them, the funny smile, the thin figure
which always seemed so tall to little Jon; but his mother he couldn't
see. All that represented her was something swaying with two dark eyes
looking back at him; and the scent of her wardrobe.

Bella was in the hall, drawing aside the big curtains, and opening the
front door. Little Jon said, wheedling,

"Bella!"

"Yes, Master Jon."

"Do let's have tea under the oak tree when they come; I know they'd like
it best."

"You mean you'd like it best."

Little Jon considered.

"No, they would, to please me."