s and the tea-basket. Why increase my
burdens by a hundredweight or so of Easthaven beach?

It ended by her admitting I was perfectly right, and--by Billie filling his
pail with pretty pebbles.

I still had that feeling of depression when we returned to our rooms for an
early luncheon (there's nothing I so detest); after which we discovered
that Miriam thought I had told the man to call for the luggage at 12.45,
while I thought that Miriam had told the man to call for the luggage at
12.45.

And then we had to change twice, and the trains were crowded, and Miriam
insisted on looking at _The Daily Dressmaker_, and Billie insisted on not
looking at _Mother Goose_.

At Liverpool Street station I kept my temper in an iron control while
pointing out to quite a number of taxi-men the ease with which Billie's
pram and Billie's cot and Billie's bath could be balanced upon their
vehicles. But the climax came when, Miriam having softened the heart of one
of them, we were held up in a block at Oxford Circus, and Billie, _a
propos_ of nothing, drooped his under lip and broke into a roar--

"Billie wants the sea-side! Billie wants Mr. Moy!"

I suppose Miriam did her best, but he was not to be quieted, and old ladies
in omnibuses peered reproaches at me, the cruel, cruel parent. I frowned
upon Miriam.

"Will nothing stop the child?"

"There's a smut on your nose, dear," was all she replied. I rubbed my nose;
I also ground my teeth....

I was still wrestling on the pavement with the pram, the cot and the rest
of it, when Billie's cries from within the house suddenly ceased. Had the
poor little chap burst something? I hurried indoors and found him--all
sunshine after showers--seated on the floor with rocking-horse and Noah's
ark and butcher's shop grouped around him.

"He's quite good now he's got his toys," he assured me, no doubt echoing
something Miriam had just said.

* * * * *

I reached my study and collapsed into a chair. What a day! But little by
little, shelf upon shelf, I became aware of the books I had not seen for a
whole month: LAMB, my Elizabethans, a row of STEVENSON. I did not want to
read; it was enough to feast one's eyes on their backs, to take down a
volume and handle it my old green-jacketed BROWNING, for instance. And the
small red MEREDITHS all needed rearranging.

A little later I turned round to see Miriam standing in the doorway.
Remorse seized me; I put an arm abo