they heard the St. Andrew's bell.

At last, when the tempter had gone off to higher game, Fergus's
Sunday boots and stockings were such a mass of black mud that Gillian
had to drag him home in disgrace, sending Valetta into church alone.
She would have put him to bed on her own responsibility, but she
could not master him; he tumbled about the room, declaring Aunt Jane
would do no such thing, rolled up his stockings in a ball, and threw
them in his sister's face.

Gillian retired in tears, which she let no one see, not even Aunt
Ada, and proceeded to record in her letter to India that those
dreadful boys were quite ruining Fergus, and Aunt Jane was spoiling
him.

However, Aunt Jane, having heard what had become of the youth, met
him in no spoiling mood; and though she never knew of his tussle with
Gillian, she spoke to him very seriously, shut him into his own room,
to learn thoroughly what he had neglected in the morning, and allowed
him no jam at tea. She said nothing to Gillian, but there were
inferences.

The lessons went no better on the following Sunday; Gillian could
neither enforce her authority nor interest the children. She avoided
the esplanade, thinking she had found a nice country walk to the
common beyond the marble works; but, behold, there was an outbreak of
drums and trumpets and wild singing. The Salvation Army was marching
that way, and, what was worse, yells and cat-calls behind showed that
the Skeleton Army was on its way to meet them. Gillian, frightened
almost out of her wits, managed to fly over an impracticable-looking