People's jints bain't made
to hold out for ever-'n-ever. Will 'um now?'

'No, they won't!' joined in Queenie comprehendingly. 'Miss Muffet's
jints are giving way, too. Just look, Binks!' She held up for
inspection an elaborately dressed lady, whose arms and legs were in
such a tremulous condition that their total lapse from the body to
which they belonged would have been no surprise.

'I shall ask father for some of that famous liniment of his, Binks,'
said Theo. 'I could send you over some in a little bottle; the boys
shall bring it this evening.'

'If you ask me candid, I should say that glue would be the best
liniment to patch _them_ jints!' Binks was stolidly contemplating the
loose condition of Miss Muffet's limbs.

'We're at cross purposes!' laughed Theo. 'Come along, Queenie; there's
Mrs. Vesey standing at the drawing-room window waving to us. We must
not keep her waiting. Can't you leave your doll-people in the boat,
dear? Binks will see that the dogs don't worry them to bits.'

'Ay, ay! That I will, missy. Bless 'em both, they're picters, they
two, as taut and trig as you please. God give 'em smooth seas to sail
over!' added the old man under his breath, as he watched the captain's
daughters cross the lawn above.

Time was, far back in years, when Binks had watched with pride such
another maiden as 'Miss Theedory,' the daughter God had given, or,
rather, had lent, for a little while, to the parents who idolised her.
The frosts of death nipped the human flower. Slowly, surely, it faded,
until the little home it had gladdened and made fair was empty and
dark, like the hearts left sorrowing. Long years ago though it was
since the blow had fallen, still not yet was the wound healed over.
Behind the austere front and grim temper of old Binks, the memory of
his maid Bessie lived fresh and fragrant as the girl herself had been.
There are some of us who, loyal ever to the love rooted deep in our
hearts, thus keep green the memory of those 'faces we have loved long
since, and lost awhile!'

'She's rare and sweet, is Miss Theedory,' murmured the weather-beaten
old man, when the sisters had disappeared, and he turned to fasten the
boat to the pier-head. 'But I make no doubt she've her peck o'
troubles, too, what with them limbs of young brothers, and the captain
so uplifted-like that he can't give a hand to help her rule 'em. Yes,
Miss Theedory has no easy life of it, though she be a born lady.