The grandmother considered. “Yes, it really is quite the best plan. We are very obliged to you, Mrs. Samuel Josephs. Children, say ‘thank you’ to Mrs. Samuel Josephs.” Two subdued chirrups: “Thank you, Mrs. Samuel Josephs.” “And be good little girls, and—come closer—” they advanced, “don’t forget to tell Mrs. Samuel Josephs when you want to. . . .” “No, granma.” “Dod’t worry, Brs. Burnell.” At the last moment Kezia let go Lottie’s hand and darted towards the buggy. “I want to kiss my granma good-bye again.” But she was too late. The buggy rolled off up the road, Isabel bursting with pride, her nose turned up at all the world, Linda Burnell prostrated, and the grandmother rummaging among the very curious oddments she had had put in her black silk reticule at the last moment, for something to give her daughter. The buggy twinkled away in the sunlight and fine golden dust up the hill and over. Kezia bit her lip, but Lottie, carefully finding her handkerchief first, set up a wail. “Mother! Granma!” Mrs. Samuel Josephs, like a huge warm black silk tea cosy, enveloped her. “It’s all right, by dear. Be a brave child. You come and blay in the dursery!” She put her arm round weeping Lottie and led her away. Kezia followed, making a face at Mrs. Samuel Josephs’ placket, which was undone as usual, with two long pink corset laces hanging out of it. . . . Lottie’s weeping died down as she mounted the stairs, but the sight of her at the nursery door with swollen eyes and a blob of a nose gave great satisfaction to the S. J.’s, who sat on two benches before a long table covered with American cloth and set out with immense plates of bread and dripping and two brown jugs that faintly steamed. “Hullo! You’ve been crying!” “Ooh! Your eyes have gone right in.” “Doesn’t her nose look funny.” “You’re all red-and-patchy.” Lottie was quite a success. She felt it and swelled, smiling timidly. “Go and sit by Zaidee, ducky,” said Mrs. Samuel Josephs, “and Kezia, you sid ad the end by Boses.” Moses grinned and gave her a nip as she sat down; but she pretended not to notice. She did hate boys. “Which will you have?” asked Stanley, leaning across the table very politely, and smiling at her. “Which will you have to begin with—strawberries and cream or bread and dripping?” “Strawberries and cream, please,” said she. “Ah-h-h-h.” How they all laughed and beat the table with their teaspoons. Wasn’t that a take in! Wasn’t it now! Didn’t he fox her! Good old Stan! “Ma! She thought it was real.” Even Mrs. Samuel Josephs, pouring out the milk and water, could not help smiling. “You bustn’t tease theb on their last day,” she wheezed.