e
trouble to waste your money upon _him_, as he did last birthday, when we
exerted ourselves to lay out ten shillings and sixpence on that
spectacle-case," answers Bobby, cheerfully.

"But what is it?"

"What is it?" cry Barbara and Tou Tou in a breath.

"It is a--a _traveling-bag_," reply I, with a little hesitation, looking
imploringly from Barbara to Bobby. "Do you think he will like it?"

"A _traveling-bag_!" echoes Bobby; then, a little bluntly, "but he
never travels!"

"No more he does!" reply I, feeling a good deal crestfallen. "I thought
of that myself; it was not quite my own idea--it was the general's
suggestion!"

"The general!" says Bobby, "whew--w!" (with a long whistle of
intelligence)--"well, _he_ ought to know what he likes and dislikes,
ought not he? He ought to understand his tastes, being the same age, and
having been at schoo--"

"Look!" cry I, hastily, breaking into the midst of these soothing facts,
which are daily becoming more distasteful to me, and pointing to the
windows of the house, which are all blazing in the sunset, each pane
sending forth a sheaf of fire, as if some great and mighty feast were
being held within. "I see you are having an illumination in honor of
us."

"Yes," answers Bobby, kindly entering into my humor, "and the reason why
father did not come to meet you at the gate was that he was busy
lighting the candles."

My spirits are so dashed by the more implied than expressed disapproval
of my brethren, that I resolve to defer the presentation of the bag till
to-morrow, or perhaps--to-morrow being Sunday, always rather a dark day
in the paternal calendar--till Monday.

Dinner is over, and, as it is clearly impossible to stay in-doors on
such a night, we are all out again. The three elders--father, mother,
and husband--sitting sedately on three rustic chairs on the dry
gravel-walk, and we young ones lying about in different attitudes of
restful ease, on rugs and cloaks that we have spread upon the dewy
grass. We are not far off from the others, but just so far as that our
talk should be out of ear-shot. In my own mind, I am not aware that Sir
Roger would far rather be with _us_, listening to our quick gabble, and
laughing with us at our threadbare jests, which are rewarded with mirth
so disproportioned to their size, than interchanging sober talk with the
friend of his infancy. Once or twice I see his gray eyes straying a
little wistfully toward us, but he makes no s