o retribution, as criminals of the
deepest dye, floated homeward in the serene light of Mrs. Handsomebody's
approval.

No one spoke till the Cathedral came in view. Then Angel said:

"There's a window in the Cathedral in memory of a son of some Duke of
Aberfalden. He died about a hundred years ago."

"The very same family," replied our governess, "and, I am sure, from now
on, my dear boy, you will regard the window with a new reverence."

"You must have noticed," she proceeded, "the geniality and dignity that
emanated from each separate member of that noble family. This is admirably
expressed by the French in the saying--'Noblesse oblige'--meaning that
nobility has its obligations. Repeat the phrase after me, David, that you
may acquire a perfect accent."

"Knob-less obleedge," repeated Angel, submissively; and The Seraph also
repeated it several times, as though storing it away for future use.

When Mrs. Handsomebody rang the door-bell, I trembled for Mary Ellen,
remembering where I had last seen her, but the admirable girl promptly
opened the door to us, clad in the drabbest of her cellar-cleaning garb, a
smudge of soot on her rosy cheek.

Mrs. Handsomebody ordered sardines for tea, and had the silver tea-pot
brought out. She also dressed for the occasion, adding a jet bracelet,
seldom seen, to her toilet.

All went well, till, at bedtime, The Seraph could not be found. Becoming
alarmed, Mrs. Handsomebody, at last, opened the door of the forbidden
parlour, Angel and I peering from behind her, hoping, yet fearing, to
discover the recreant.

Truly the gods had a mind to The Seraph. His was ever the cream of every
adventure. There he was, lolling at ease, in a tasselled velvet chair, just
beneath the portrait of Mr. Handsomebody. Lolling at ease, and smoking a
gold-tipped cigarette, which, he afterwards confessed, he had got from
Bill, in trade for a piece of India-rubber.

Like an old-timer he handled it, watching the smoke-wreaths above his head
with the tranquil gaze of an elderly club-man.

"Merciful Heaven!" screamed Mrs. Handsomebody, clutching Angel and me for
support. "Are you demented, Alexander? Do you realize what you are doing?"

The Seraph drew a long puff, looking straight into her eyes, before he
replied: then, in a tone of gentle seriousness, he said:

"Knob-less obleedge."

_Chapter IX: The Cobbler And His Wife_

I

Bootlaces had become of immense importance to us, since a lack