ather's peculiarities; "a little infirmity
of temper, but the _heart_ is in the right place."

"Bobby," say I, anxiously, in a whisper, "has he--has he brought the
_bag_?"

Bobby shakes his head.

"I _knew_ he would not," cry I, rather crestfallen. Then, with sudden
exasperation: "I wish I had not given it to him; he always _hated_ it. I
wish I had given it to Roger instead."

"Never you mind!" cries Bobby, while his round eyes twinkle
mischievously; "I dare say he has got one by now, a nice one, all beads
and wampums, that the old Begum has made him."

I laugh, but I also sigh. What a long time it seems since I was jealous
of Bobby's Begum! We are a little behind father, whispering with our
heads together, while he, in his raspingest voice, is giving his
delinquent a month's warning. That tone! it still makes me feel sneaky.

"Bobby," say I, putting my arm through his substantial one, and speaking
in a low tone of misgiving, "how is he? how has he been?"

"We have been a little fractious," replies Bobby, leniently--"a little
disposed to quarrel with our bread-and-butter; but, as you may remember,
my dear, from _your_ experience of our humble roof, Christmas never was
our happiest time."

"No, never," reply I, pensively.

The storm is rising: at least father's voice is. It appears that the
valet is not only to go, but to go without a character.

"Never you mind," repeats Bobby, reassuringly, seeing me blench a little
at these disused amenities, pressing the hand that rests on his arm
against his stout side; "it is nothing to _you_! bless your heart, you
are the apple of his eye."

"Am I?" reply I, laughing. "It has newly come to me, if I am."

"And I am his 'good, brave Bobby!'--his 'gallant boy!'--do you know
why?"

"No."

"Because I am going to Hong-Kong, and he hears that they are keeping two
nice roomy graves open all the time there!"

"You are _not_?" (in a tone of keen anxiety and pain); then, with a
sudden change of tone to a nervous and constrained amenity: "Yes, it
_is_ a nice-sized room, is not it? My only fault with it is, that the
windows are so high up that one cannot see out of them when one is
sitting down."

For father, having demolished his body-servant, and reduced mother to
her usual niche-state, now turns to me, and, in his genialest, happiest
society-manner, compliments me on my big house.

That is a whole day ago. Since then, I have grown used to seeing
father's austere face,