ce.
"But twenty-five past four, I take you to witness! and I keep it five
minutes fast on principle."

"There _is_ something wrong," Fancy assured her. "If you'll take my
advice, you'll go in and look injured."

"I couldn't keep 'em waiting, though injured I will look," promised
Mrs Bowldler, catching up one of the two tea-trays. "Palmerston had
better withdraw into the grounds and control himself. I will igsplain
that I have sent him on an errand connected with the establishment."

She bustled forth. Fancy closed the door after her; then turned and
addressed Palmerston.

"Dry your eyes, you silly boy," she commanded. Palmerston obeyed and
stood blinking at her--alternately at her and at his handkerchief which
he held tightly crumpled into a pad; whereupon she demanded, somewhat
cruelly:

"Now, what have you to say for yourself?" He was endeavouring to answer
when Mrs Bowldler came running in and caught up the other tea-tray.

"Which it appears," she panted, "he is in a hurry to catch the post; and
I hope the Lord will forgive me for saying that Palmerston had just this
instant returned and would go with it. But he has it done up in an
envelope, and says boys are not to be trusted. When I was a girl in my
teens," pursued Mrs Bowldler, luckily discovering that the second teapot
had no water in it, and hastening to the kettle, "we learnt out of a
Child's Compendium about a so-called ancient god of the name of Mercury,
whence the stuff they put into barometers to go up for fine weather.
He had wings on his boots, or was supposed to: which it would be a
convenience in these days, with Palmerston's unfortunate habits.
For goodness' sake, child," she addressed Fancy, "take him out
somewhere, that I mayn't perjure myself twice in one day!"

She vanished.

"_Now_, what have you to say for yourself?" Fancy turned again upon
Palmerston and repeated her question.

"That's what's the matter with me, Miss--Fancy, I mean," confessed he,
after a painful struggle with his emotions. "I never had nothing to say
for myself, not in this world: and--and--" he plucked up courage--
"you got no business to play with me the way you did just now!" he
blurted.

"Who said I was a-playin' with you?" Fancy demanded; but Palmerston did
not heed.

"And right a-top of your sayin' as writin' was unnatural!" he continued.

She stared at him. "What has that to do with it? . . . Besides,
whatever you're drivin' at, I didn' mean a