d" (Mary's copy, but she didn't know), after "Alice," "Herr
Baby," after "Herr Baby" the Prayer Book that Aunt Amy gave him last
birthday, after the Prayer Book some dried flowers which were to be
presented to Mrs. Monk, the lady of Cow Farm (this might be called
carrying coals to Newcastle), after the flowers a Bible, after the Bible
four walnuts (very dry and hard ones), after the walnuts some transfer
papers, after the transfer papers six marbles--the box was full and
more than full, and he had not included the hammer and nails that Uncle
Samuel had once given him, nor the cigarette-case (innocent now of
cigarettes, and transformed first into a home for walking snails, second
a grave for dead butterflies, third a mouse-trap), nor the butterfly
net, nor "Struuwelpeter," nor the picture of Queen Victoria cut from the
chocolate-box, nor--most impossible omission of all--the toy-village.
The toy-village! What must he do about that? Obviously impossible to
take it all--and yet some of it he must have. Mr. and Mrs. Noah and the
church, perhaps--or no, Mrs. Monk would want to see the garden--it would
never do not to show her the orchard with the apple-trees, and then the
youngest Miss Noah! She had always seemed to Jeremy so attractive with
her straight blue gown and hard red cheeks. He must show her to Mrs.
Monk. And the butcher's shop, and then the sheep, and the dogs and the
cows!

He was truly in despair. He sat on the schoolroom floor with his
possessions all around him. Only Helen was in the room, and he knew
that it would be no use to appeal to her--she had become so much more
conceited since Barbara's arrival--and yet he must appeal to somebody,
so he said to her very politely:

"Please, Helen, I've got my box and so many things to put into it and
it's nearly Saturday already--and I want to show the Noahs to Mrs.
Monk."

This would have been a difficult sentence for the most clear-headed
person to unravel, and Helen was, at that moment, trying to write a
letter to an aunt whom she had never seen and for whom she had no sort
of affection, so she answered him rather roughly:

"Oh, don't bother with your box, Jeremy. Can't you see I'm busy?"

"You may be busy," said Jeremy, rising indignantly to his feet, "but I'm
busy too, and my business is just as good as yours with your silly old
letter."

"Oh, don't bother!" said Helen, whereupon Jeremy crept behind her and
pinched her stocking. A battle followed, too commo