-a preposterously small room.

The lady of the house evidently expected them, for she said, "The bath
is quite ready, sir."

"Now, Sammy,--dear boy," said Mr Twitter, "off with your rags--and
g-git into that b-bath."

Obviously Mr Twitter did not speak with ease. In truth it was all he
could do to contain himself, and he felt that his only chance of bearing
up was to say nothing more than was absolutely necessary in short
ejaculatory phrases. Sammy was deeply touched, and began to wash his
dirty face with a few quiet tears before taking his bath.

"Now then, Sammy--look sharp! You didn't use--to--be--so--slow! eh?"

"No, father. I suppose it--it--is want of habit. I haven't undressed
much of late."

This very nearly upset poor Mr Twitter. He made no reply, but assisted
his son to disrobe with a degree of awkwardness that tended to delay
progress.

"It--it's not too hot--eh?"

"Oh! no, father. It's--it's--v-very nice."

"Go at it with a will, Sammy. Head and all, my boy--down with it. And
don't spare the soap. Lots of soap here, Sammy--no end of soap!"

The truth of which Mr Twitter proceeded to illustrate by covering his
son with a lather that caused him quickly to resemble whipped cream.

"Oh! hold on, father, it's getting into my eyes."

"My boy--dear Sammy--forgive me. I didn't quite know what I was doing.
Never mind. Down you go again, Sammy--head and all. That's it. Now,
that's enough; out you come."

"Oh! father," said the poor boy, while invisible tears trickled over his
wet face, as he stepped out of the bath, "it's so good of you to forgive
me so freely."

"Forgive you, my son! forgive! why, I'd--I'd--" He could say no more,
but suddenly clasped Sammy to his heart, thereby rendering his face and
person soap-suddy and wet to a ridiculous extent.

Unclasping his arms and stepping back, he looked down at himself.

"You dirty boy! what d'you mean by it?"

"It's your own fault, daddy," replied Sam, with a hysterical laugh, as
he enveloped himself in a towel.

A knock at the bath-room door here produced dead silence.

"Please, sir," said a female voice, "the lady in the cab sends to say
that she's gettin' impatient."

"Tell the lady in the cab to drive about and take an airing for ten
minutes," replied Mr Twitter with reckless hilarity.

"Yes, sir."

"Now, my boy, here's your toggery," said the irrepressible father,
hovering round his recovered son like a moth round a candle-