remarkable waif had been set on a bombshell and blown to atoms,
he would have retired from this life in a state of supreme satisfaction.

While my mind was thus agreeably concentrated on the pursuit of science,
it received a rude, but pleasing, yet particularly distracting shock, by
the return of Lilly Blythe. The extent to which this governess was
worshipped by the whole household was wonderful--almost idolatrous.
Need I say that I joined in the worship, and that Dumps and Robin
followed suit? I think not. And yet--there was something strange,
something peculiar, something unaccountable, about Miss Blythe's manner
which I could by no means understand.

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

RELATES GENERALLY TO THE DOINGS AND SAYINGS OF ROBIN SLIDDER.

"My dear," said Mrs McTougall one evening to the doctor, "since that
little boy Slidder came to stay with us things have become worse and
worse; in fact, the house is almost unbearable."

"My dear," responded Dr McTougall, "you amaze me; surely the boy has
not dared to be rude--insolent to you?"

"Oh no, it's not that; but he must really be forbidden to enter the
nursery. Our darlings, you know, were dreadful enough before he came,
but since then they have become absolute maniacs."

"You don't mean to say that the little rascal has been teaching them bad
words or manners, I hope?" returned the doctor, with a frown.

"Dear me, no, papa; don't get angry," answered the anxious lady--"far
from it. On the contrary, I really believe that our darlings have
greatly improved his language and manners by _their_ example; but
Robin's exuberant spirits are far too much for them. It is like putting
fire to gunpowder, and they are _so_ fond of him. That's the
difficulty. The boy does not presume, I must say that for him, and he
is very respectful to nurse; but the children are constantly asking him
to come and play with them, which he seems quite pleased to do, and then
his mind is so eccentric, so inventive. The new games he devises are
very ingenious, but so exceedingly dangerous and destructive that it is
absolutely necessary to check him, and I want you to do it, dear."

"I must know something about the nature of the mischief before I can
check it," said the doctor.

"Oh, it's indescribable," returned the lady; "the smell that he makes in
the nursery with his chemical experiments is awful; and then poor
Pompey, or Dumps, or whatever they call him--for they seem very
undecided ab