museum instead of him. We
waited a long time, and then a boy came down and said--

'The Editor can't see you. Will you please write your business?' And he
laughed. I wanted to punch his head.

But Noel said, 'Yes, I'll write it if you'll give me a pen and ink, and
a sheet of paper and an envelope.'

The boy said he'd better write by post. But Noel is a bit pig-headed;
it's his worst fault. So he said--'No, I'll write it _now_.' So I backed
him up by saying--

'Look at the price penny stamps are since the coal strike!'

So the boy grinned, and the man in the glass case gave us pen and paper,
and Noel wrote. Oswald writes better than he does; but Noel would do it;
and it took a very long time, and then it was inky.

DEAR MR EDITOR, I want you to print my poetry and pay for it,
and I am a friend of Mrs Leslie's; she is a poet too.

Your affectionate friend,

NOEL BASTABLE.

He licked the envelope a good deal, so that that boy shouldn't read it
going upstairs; and he wrote 'Very private' outside, and gave the letter
to the boy. I thought it wasn't any good; but in a minute the grinning
boy came back, and he was quite respectful, and said--'The Editor says,
please will you step up?'

We stepped up. There were a lot of stairs and passages, and a queer sort
of humming, hammering sound and a very funny smell. The boy was now very
polite, and said it was the ink we smelt, and the noise was the printing
machines.

After going through a lot of cold passages we came to a door; the boy
opened it, and let us go in. There was a large room, with a big, soft,
blue-and-red carpet, and a roaring fire, though it was only October; and
a large table with drawers, and littered with papers, just like the one
in Father's study. A gentleman was sitting at one side of the table; he
had a light moustache and light eyes, and he looked very young to be an
editor--not nearly so old as Father. He looked very tired and sleepy,
as if he had got up very early in the morning; but he was kind, and we
liked him. Oswald thought he looked clever. Oswald is considered a judge
of faces.

'Well,' said he, 'so you are Mrs Leslie's friends?'

'I think so,' said Noel; 'at least she gave us each a shilling, and she
wished us "good hunting!"'

'Good hunting, eh? Well, what about this poetry of yours? Which is the
poet?'

I can't think how he could have asked! Oswald is said to be a very
manly-looking boy for his age. However, I th