-Greenway-dressed little girl." But Marmaduke's light yellow
trousers, buttoning up _over_ his waistcoat, with bright brass buttons,
and open yellow jacket to match, would look odd. Especially on such a
very little boy--for he and Pamela, as they stand there with their
flaxen hair falling over their shoulders and their very blue eyes gazing
solemnly before them, wondering when either of the old people will think
fit to speak to "us"--Pamela and he are only "six last birfday."

All this time Grandpapa is in happy--no, I won't say "happy," for the
old gentleman is always, to give him his due, pleased to welcome the
children to his presence, "at the right time and in the right manner,"
be it understood--in _complete_ unconsciousness of their near
neighbourhood. There was nothing to reveal it; they had not left the
door open so as to cause a draught, for Grandpapa abhorred draughts;
they were as still and quiet as two little mice, when mice _are_ quiet
that is to say. For often in the middle of the night, when my sleep has
been disturbed by these same little animals who have been held up as a
model for never disturbing any one, I have wondered how they gained this
distinction! "When mouses is quiet, perhaps it's cos they isn't there,"
said a little boy I know, and the remark seems to me worthy of deep
consideration.

Grandpapa was absorbed in his newspaper, for it was newspaper day for
_him_, and newspaper day only came once a week, and when it--the paper,
not the day--did come, it was already the best part of a week old. For
it came all the way from London, and that not by the post, as we
understand the word, but by the post of those days, which meant "his
Majesty's mail," literally speaking, and his Majesty's mail took a very
long time indeed to reach outlying parts of the country, for all the
brave appearance, horses foaming, whips cracking, and flourishing of
horns, not to say trumpets, with which it clattered over the stones of
the "High Streets" of those days. And the paper--poor two-leaved,
miserable little pretence that _we_ should think it--cost both for
itself and for its journey from London, oh so dear! I am afraid to say
how much, for I should be sorry to exaggerate. But "those days" are
receding ever farther and farther from us, and as I write it comes over
me sadly that it is no use _now_ to leave a blank on my page and say to
myself, "I will ask dear such a one, or such an other. He or she will
remember, and