l, with calm resignation. "I'll say one for you."

"No, you shan't," cries Tommy; "it's my turn."

"No, it isn't."

"It is, Mabel. You said it yesterday. And you know you said 'relieve'
instead of 'received,' and mother laughed, and----"

"I don't care. It is Mr. Dysart's turn to-day, and he'll give his to me;
won't you, Mr. Dysart?"

"You're a greedy thing," cries Tommy, wrathfully, "and you shan't say
it. I'll tell Mr. Dysart what you did this morning if you do."

"I don't care," with disgraceful callousness. "I will say it."

"Then, I'll say it, too," says Tommy, with sudden inspiration born of a
determination to die rather than give in, and instantly four fat hands
are joined in pairs, and two seraphic countenances are upraised, and two
shrill voices at screaming-pitch are giving thanks for the boiled
mutton, at a racing speed, that censorious people might probably connect
with a desire on the part of each to be first in at the finish.

Manfully they fight it out to the bitter end, without a break or a
comma, and with defiant eyes glaring at each other across the table.
There is a good deal of the grace; it is quite a long one when usually
said, and yet very little grace in it to-day, when all is told.

"You may go now, nurse," says Mabel, presently, when the mutton had been
removed and nurse had placed the rice and jam on the table. "Mr. Dysart
will attend to us." It is impossible to describe the grown-up air with
which this command is given. It is so like Mrs. Monkton's own voice and
manner that Felix, with a start, turns his eyes on the author of it, and
nurse, with an ill-suppressed smile, leaves the room.

"That's what mammy always says when-there's only her and me and Tommy,"
explains Mabel, confidentially. Then. "You," with a doubtful glance,
"you will attend to us, won't you?"

"I'll do my best," says Felix, in a depressed tone, whose spirits are
growing low. After all, there was safety in nurse!

"I think I'll come up and sit nearer to you," says Tommy, affably.

He gets down from his chair and pushes it, creaking hideously, up to Mr.
Dysart's elbow--right under it, in fact.

"So will I," says Mabel, fired with joy at the prospect of getting away
from her proper place, and eating her rice in a forbidden spot.

"But," begins Felix, vaguely, "do you think your mother would----"

"We always do it when we are alone with mammy," says Tommy.

"She says it keeps us warm to get under her wing when