of course; pigs, for instance, came and went
with disturbing frequency--

"Fired their ringing shot and passed,
Hotly charged and sank at last,"--

but Nature had ordered it so, and in requital had provided for rapid
successors. Did you come to love a pig, and he was taken from you, grief
was quickly assuaged in the delight of selection from the new litter.
But now, when it was no question of a peerless pig, but only of a
governess, Nature seemed helpless, and the future held no litter of
oblivion. Things might be better, or they might be worse, but they would
never be the same; and the innate conservatism of youth asks neither
poverty nor riches, but only immunity from change.

Edward slouched up alongside of me presently, with a hang-dog look on
him, as if he had been caught stealing jam. "What a lark it'll be when
she's really gone!" he observed, with a swagger obviously assumed.

"Grand fun!" I replied, dolorously; and conversation flagged.

We reached the hen-house, and contemplated the banner of freedom lying
ready to flaunt the breezes at the supreme moment.

"Shall you run it up," I asked, "when the fly starts, or--or wait a
little till it's out of sight?"

Edward gazed around him dubiously. "We're going to have some rain, I
think," he said; "and--and it's a new flag. It would be a pity to spoil
it. P'raps I won't run it up at all."

Harold came round the corner like a bison pursued by Indians. "I've
polished up the cannons," he cried, "and they look grand! Mayn't I load
'em now?"

"You leave 'em alone," said Edward, severely, "or you'll be blowing
yourself up" (consideration for others was not usually Edward's strong
point). "Don't touch the gunpowder till you're told, or you'll get your
head smacked."

Harold fell behind, limp, squashed, obedient. "She wants me to write to
her," he began, presently. "Says she doesn't mind the spelling, it I'll
only write. Fancy her saying that!"

"Oh, shut up, will you?" said Edward, savagely; and once more we were
silent, with only our thoughts for sorry company.

"Let's go off to the copse," I suggested timidly, feeling that something
had to be done to relieve the tension, "and cut more new bows and
arrows."

"She gave me a knife my last birthday," said Edward, moodily, never
budging. "It wasn't much of a knife--but I wish I hadn't lost it."

"When my legs used to ache," I said, "she sat up half the night, rubbing
stuff on them. I forgot al