de a special repast of mutton-chops, which were brought
in hot and hot, between two plates, and smelt very nice.

As it rained after dinner, and they couldn't go out walking on the
beach, and Mrs Pipchin's constitution required rest after chops, they
went away with Berry (otherwise Berinthia) to the Dungeon; an empty room
looking out upon a chalk wall and a water-butt, and made ghastly by a
ragged fireplace without any stove in it. Enlivened by company, however,
this was the best place after all; for Berry played with them there, and
seemed to enjoy a game at romps as much as they did; until Mrs Pipchin
knocking angrily at the wall, like the Cock Lane Ghost' revived, they
left off, and Berry told them stories in a whisper until twilight.

For tea there was plenty of milk and water, and bread and butter, with
a little black tea-pot for Mrs Pipchin and Berry, and buttered toast
unlimited for Mrs Pipchin, which was brought in, hot and hot, like the
chops. Though Mrs Pipchin got very greasy, outside, over this dish, it
didn't seem to lubricate her internally, at all; for she was as fierce
as ever, and the hard grey eye knew no softening.

After tea, Berry brought out a little work-box, with the Royal Pavilion
on the lid, and fell to working busily; while Mrs Pipchin, having put on
her spectacles and opened a great volume bound in green baize, began to
nod. And whenever Mrs Pipchin caught herself falling forward into the
fire, and woke up, she filliped Master Bitherstone on the nose for
nodding too.

At last it was the children's bedtime, and after prayers they went to
bed. As little Miss Pankey was afraid of sleeping alone in the dark,
Mrs Pipchin always made a point of driving her upstairs herself, like a
sheep; and it was cheerful to hear Miss Pankey moaning long afterwards,
in the least eligible chamber, and Mrs Pipchin now and then going in
to shake her. At about half-past nine o'clock the odour of a warm
sweet-bread (Mrs Pipchin's constitution wouldn't go to sleep without
sweet-bread) diversified the prevailing fragrance of the house, which
Mrs Wickam said was 'a smell of building;' and slumber fell upon the
Castle shortly after.

The breakfast next morning was like the tea over night, except that Mrs
Pipchin took her roll instead of toast, and seemed a little more irate
when it was over. Master Bitherstone read aloud to the rest a pedigree
from Genesis judiciously selected by Mrs Pipchin), getting over the
names