hem. It was always a pleasure to a man of his
aesthetic sensibility to gaze at Pollyooly's angel face in its frame of
beautiful red hair and at that redder-headed but authentic cherub, the
Lump. As they ran through London, curiously curled round the Lump, she
was busy showing him the pictures in the papers and receiving his
monosyllabic comments on them, with the ecstatic delight with which his
disciples receive, or should receive, the pregnant utterances of a
genius. When they came into the country she was busy pointing out to
him, with an even more excited delight the common railside objects. It
was more than a year since he had been in the country; and he had to be
told earnestly and more than once that a cow was a cow and a sheep a
baa-lamb, for he was inclined to class them all alike under the genus
gee-gee. When at last he did correctly hail a sheep as a baa-lamb, the
triumphant pleasure of Pollyooly passed all bounds.

The Honourable John Ruffin read and observed the children, and observed
the children and read. But when they were nearing their journey's end,
he shut up his book and said:

"I think it will be well for you to cease to be my housekeeper at
Pyechurch, Mrs. Bride. People will ask you about our relations of
course, because by the sea there is so much time for idle curiosity;
and you had better tell them that you are a cousin of mine. That is
nothing but the truth, for you are undoubtedly a red Deeping; and all
the Deepings, red or neutral-tinted, are cousins, first, second, third,
fourth, and so on, of mine."

"Yes, sir," said Pollyooly gravely.

"Also I think that you had better give yourself a few airs. You will
have a better time that way, for airs procure you a welcome in the best
circles. Be a red Deeping--not too truculent, you know, but firm."

Pollyooly's eyes sparkled a little; and she said:

"Yes, sir: I should like to. I like being a red Deeping, sir, rather.
I liked it when I was at Ricksborough Court."

"Good. You have the right spirit. One of these days you will become
what the newspapers call a society leader. I foresee it," he said in a
tone of the most assured conviction.

"Yes, sir," said Pollyooly.

"There's one difficulty though, and that's your hands. At present
they're hardly the hands of a red Deeping," he said thoughtfully. "Not
that they're not small and well-shaped!" he interjected hastily. "But
I expect that a week's idleness will let your nails gr