looked me up, often invited me to her charming home, gave
me excellent little dinners, followed by the kindest, nicest, most
nervous little preachments. Don't look amused, dear. I never failed
to profit. I respected her for it. She is as good and genuine as they
make 'em; and if _she_ had stood up this afternoon, with her friendly
smile, and dear shaky old voice, and given us an exposition of the
twenty-third Psalm, we should have all come away quite 'good and
happy.' Instead of which--oh, my wig!"

The Boy took an explosive bun, and put it whole into his mouth. "The
only way to manage them on Sunday," he explained, as soon as speech was
possible, "when sweeping is not the right thing. But let us hope
Mollie's papa's 'clerical brethren' won't find it out. There would
certainly be less conversation and fewer crumbs, but no fun at all."

"I don't think you need be afraid, Boy dear. Even should such a way
out of the difficulty occur to them, I am inclined to think they would
prefer the explosion, to the whole bun at a mouthful. It has a rather
startling effect, you know, until one gets used to seeing it done. I
can't quite imagine an archdeacon doing it, while standing on the
hearthrug in conversation with my brother. Now tell me what the good
lady said, which you found so trying."

"Oh, she meandered on," grumbled the Boy. "She told us all we should
have been, if we had not been what we were; and all we might be, if we
were not what we are; and all we shall be, when we are not what we are!
She implored us to consider, and weigh well, _where_ we should go, if,
by a sudden and unexpected dispensation of Providence, we ceased to be
where we then were. I jolly well knew the answer to _that_; for if
Providence had suddenly dispensated--which it didn't, for a good
three-quarters of an hour--I should have been here, _here_, HERE, as
fast as my best Sunday boots could carry me!" His brown eyes softened.
"Ah, think what '_here_' means," he said. "Think! 'Here' means _You_!"

But Miss Charteris did not wish the conversation to become too
meltingly personal.

"What else did she say, Boy?"

He consulted the mulberry leaves, then bounded in his chair. "Ha, I
have it! I kept this tit-bit for you. She used an astronomical
illustration, I haven't the least idea apropos of what, but she told us
exactly how many millions of miles the sun is from the earth; and then
she smiled upon us blandly, and said: 'Or is it