But what was it I said I wanted them for just now? I gazed round the
walls upon the portraits of the great writers of the past, hoping for
inspiration. Useless! Upon Emerson's face there was a faint smile of
most infuriating benevolence. Lamb--but I am getting tired of his
smirk, which might be of irony or kindness. He would look savage enough
today, hearing his constantly returning Dissertation on Roast Pig thump
the door-mat four times a week; for that, he can be assured, is the way
editors would treat it now, and without even preliminary consultations
with lady typist-secretaries. Of the whole gallery of the great I felt
there was not one worth his wall room. They are pious frauds. This
inspiration business is played out. I have never had the worth of the
frames out of those portraits.... Ah, the Balkans. That was it. And of
all the flat, interminable Arctic wastes of bleak wickedness and frozen
error that ever a shivering writer had to traverse....

My head was in my hands, and I was trying to get daylight and direction
into the affair with my eyes shut, when I felt a slight touch on my
arm. "I'm sorry we're in your way. Are you praying? Look who's here."

I looked. It was Miss Muffet who spoke. She shook the gold out of her
eyes and regarded me steadily. Well she knew she had no right there,
for all her look of confident and tender solicitude. The Boy, who is a
little older (and already knows enough to place the responsibility for
intrusion on his sister with her innocent eyes and imperturbable calm
and golden hair), stood a little in the background, pretending to be
engrossed with a magnet, as though he were unaware that he was really
present. Curls hopped about on one leg frankly, knowing that the others
would be blamed for any naughtiness of hers. Her radiant impudence
never needs any apology. What a plague of inconsequential violators of
any necessary peace! When would my lucky words come now?

The Boy probably saw a red light somewhere. "Haven't you finished uncle
we thought you had has a topsail schooner got two or three masts I saw
a fine little engine up in the town today and an aeroplane it was only
seventeen shillings do you think that is too much?"

"I am learning the sailors' hornpipe at school," said Miss Muffet,
slowly and calmly; "you watch my feet. Do I dance it nicely?"

I watched her feet. Now it is but fair to say that when Miss Muffet
dances across a room there is no international crisis in a