"Nonsense!" said Uncle Samuel impatiently. "It wasn't you; it was
I."

"And doesn't it matter your telling lies?" asked Jeremy.

The answer to this difficult question was, happily for Uncle Samuel,
interrupted by the arrival of the household, who had careened up
Orange Street in a cab.

When Mr. and Mrs. Cole saw Jeremy standing in the hall, his great
coat still on and his muffler round his neck, there was a fine scene
of wonder and amazement.

Uncle Samuel explained. "It was my fault. I told him you'd forgiven
him and sent for him to come, after all. He's in an awful state now
that you shouldn't forgive him."

Whatever they thought of Uncle Samuel, this was obviously neither
the time nor the place to speak out. Mrs. Cole looked at her son.
His body defiant, sleepy, excited. His mouth was obstinate, but his
eyes appealed to her on the scene of the common marvellous
experience that they had just enjoyed.

She hugged him.

"And you won't tell a lie again, will you, Jeremy, dear?"

"Oh, no!" And then, hurrying on: "And when the old woman tumbled
down the steps, Mother, wasn't it lovely? And the fairies in Dick
Whittington's sleep, and when the furniture all fell all over the