"they do; but their orders are not obeyed. There's
Frederick, for instance. He's only eight, I know, but he's got something
up his sleeve. He asked me yesterday if I could lend him threepence, and
did I think that a small notebook with a pencil would be a nice present
for a sort of uncle on his birthday--not a father, mind you, but an
uncle. There's a Machiavelli for you."

"And what did you say?"

"I told him I had never met an uncle who didn't adore notebooks, but
that few fathers really appreciated them; and then he countered me. He
said he had noticed that many fathers were uncles too."

"That child," said Francesca, "will be a Lord Chancellor. He'd look
splendid on a woolsack."

"Yes, later on. At present his legs would dangle a bit, wouldn't they?"

"They're very-well-shaped legs, anyhow. Any Lord Chancellor would be
proud to possess them."

"To resume," I said, "about the birthday. There's Alice too. She's
engaged on some nefarious scheme with a paint-box and a sheet of paper.
It's directed at me, I know, because, whenever I approach her, things
have to be hustled away or covered up. However, it's all useless. My
mind's made up. I will _not_ have a birthday."

"You can't prevent it, you know."

"Yes, I can," I said. "It's mine, and if I decide not to have it nobody
can make me."

"But isn't that rather selfish?"

"It can't be selfish of me to deprive myself of a birthday."

"But you're depriving the children of it, and that's worse than selfish.
It's positively heartless."

"Very well, then, I'm heartless. At any rate my orders are that there
shall be no birthday; and don't you forget it, or, rather, forget it as
hard as ever you can."

"I can't hold out the least prospect that your suggestion will meet with
favourable consideration."

The birthday duly arrived, and I went down to breakfast. As I entered
the room a shout of applause broke from the already assembled family.
"Look at your place," said Frederick. I did, and beheld on the table a
collection of unaccustomed articles. There was a box of chocolates from
Muriel and Nina; there was a note-book with an appropriate pencil.
"That," said Frederick, "is for Cousin Herbert's uncle. Ha, ha!" And
there was, from Alice, a painted Calendar fit to hang on any wall. It
represents a Tartar nobleman haughtily walking in a green meadow, with a
background of snow-capped mountains. He has a long pig-tail and a black
velvet cap with a puce knob. His trou