a "grown-up" in the
house, with a cough and a large piece of putty which he was making
into a face; so she hardly ever came down to see him in the pond. Once,
however, she brought with her two other "grown-ups." Little Jon, who
happened to have painted his naked self bright blue and yellow in
stripes out of his father's water-colour box, and put some duck's
feathers in his hair, saw them coming, and--ambushed himself among the
willows. As he had foreseen, they came at once to his wigwam and knelt
down to look inside, so that with a blood-curdling yell he was able to
take the scalps of "Auntie" June and the woman "grown-up" in an almost
complete manner before they kissed him. The names of the two grown-ups
were "Auntie" Holly and "Uncle" Val, who had a brown face and a little
limp, and laughed at him terribly. He took a fancy to "Auntie" Holly,
who seemed to be a sister too; but they both went away the same
afternoon and he did not see them again. Three days before his father
and mother were to come home "Auntie" June also went off in a great
hurry, taking the "grown-up" who coughed and his piece of putty; and
Mademoiselle said: "Poor man, he was veree ill. I forbid you to go into
his room, Jon." Little Jon, who rarely did things merely because he was
told not to, refrained from going, though he was bored and lonely. In
truth the day of the pond was past, and he was filled to the brim of
his soul with restlessness and the want of something--not a tree, not a
gun--something soft. Those last two days had seemed months in spite
of Cast Up by the Sea, wherein he was reading about Mother Lee and her
terrible wrecking bonfire. He had gone up and down the stairs perhaps a
hundred times in those two days, and often from the day nursery, where
he slept now, had stolen into his mother's room, looked at everything,
without touching, and on into the dressing-room; and standing on one leg
beside the bath, like Slingsby, had whispered:

"Ho, ho, ho! Dog my cats!" mysteriously, to bring luck. Then, stealing
back, he had opened his mother's wardrobe, and taken a long sniff which
seemed to bring him nearer to--he didn't know what.

He had done this just before he stood in the streak of sunlight,
debating in which of the several ways he should slide down the
banisters. They all seemed silly, and in a sudden languor he began
descending the steps one by one. During that descent he could remember
his father quite distinctly--the short grey