od, sir," said the little boy.

The two heads were patted again approvingly.

"But us haven't _bo'f_ been good," added the two voices together.

Grandpapa looked very serious.

"Indeed, how can that be?" he said.

There was a pause of consideration. Then a bright idea struck little
Marmaduke.

"I think perhaps it was _most_ Toby," he said. "Us was running, and Toby
too, and us felled down, and Toby barked, and when us got up again it
was all tored."

"What?" said Grandpapa, still very grave.

"Sister's gown, sir."

"My clean white gown," added Pamela impressively; "but bruvver didn't do
it. _He_ said so."

"And sister didn't do it. _She_ said so," stated Duke. "But Nurse said
_one_ of us had done it. Only I don't think she had thought of Toby."

"Perhaps not," said Grandpapa. "Let us hope it was Toby."

"Nevertheless," said Grandmamma, who had quite disengaged herself from
her netting by this time, "Pamela must remember that she is growing a
big missy, and it does not become big misses to run about so as to tear
their gowns."

Pamela listened respectfully, but Grandmamma's tone was not alarming.
The little girl slowly edged her way along from Grandpapa's chair to
Grandmamma's.

"Did you never tear your gowns when you were a little missy,
Grandmamma?" she inquired, looking up solemnly into the old lady's face.
Grandmamma smiled, and looked across at her husband rather slily. He
shook his head.

"Who would think it indeed?" he said, smiling in turn. "Listen, my
little girl, but be sure you tell it again to no one, for it was a
little bird told it to me, and little birds are not fond of having their
secrets repeated. Once upon a time there was not a greater hoyden in all
the countryside than your Grandmamma there. She swam the brooks, she
climbed the trees, she tore her gowns----"

"Till at last my poor mother told the pedlar the next time he came round
he must bring her a web of some stuff that _wouldn't_ tear to dress me
in," said Grandmamma; "and to this day I mind me as if it had been but
last week of the cloth he brought. Sure enough it would neither tear nor
wear, and oh how ugly it was! 'Birstle peas' colour they called it, and
how ashamed I was of the time I had to wear it. 'Little miss in her
birstle-peas gown' was a byword in the countryside. No, my Pamela, I
should be sorry to have to dress you in such a gown."

"I'll try not to tear my nice white gowns," said the little girl; "Nurse
said