“Vere wasn’t woom for all of us, so I let Twenn and Hawwy go ve first voyage. I’m vewwy kind to little boys.” “Oh, indeed! So kind you preferred to risk other children’s lives while you looked on.” “Looked on? Oh, no, ma’am, didn’t you see I was workin’ like anyfing?” He glanced across at his ally. “It was a steamship, Mr. Mar. I was ve injine. I’m a most glowious injine—” “Yes, if you please,” Mrs. Mar broke in. “He’s been propelling the plank all round the pond with those two poor little innocents on it—the greatest wonder they weren’t drowned.” “It was very wrong,” said Mr. Mar, gravely—then, under his breath to his wife, “but the water isn’t much over a foot at the deepest.” “Quite enough to drown any wretched baby that might fall in—but, of course, you defend that boy no matter what he—” “Not at all—not at all. I don’t approve in the least of his—” “And our two little boys mud and dirt from their heads to their heels, looking like a couple of chimney-sweeps—” “No, ma’am,” said the young gentleman from the horsehair chair, in a conciliatory tone. “Twenn and Hawwy ain’t black, only just bwown.” “Brown, indeed! I’ll brown _you_, sir, if you ever do such a thing again while you’re staying _here_! Harry with his stocking quite torn off one leg! And Trennor’s only decent breeches—” “Vere was a nail in vat board,” Jack explained, conversationally, putting a finger through a jag in his own trouser knee. “Small matter to _you_, if you do ruin your things.” (Jack began to swing his muddy feet—it was gloriously true.) “But you’ve got to remember that other children’s clothes don’t grow on gooseberry bushes.” “My pants didn’t neever,” returned Jack, sturdily. “Keep your feet still and your tongue, too.” “Yes ’m.” Mrs. Mar was in the act of turning away, after a further slight attention to the carpet patch, when her eye fell upon the handleless cup on the desk. “Did you do that?” she demanded. Mar cleared his throat, and Mrs. Mar for once, not waiting to hear the horrid details, sat down in her rocking-chair, despair in her face and the broken cup in her hand. “I never saw anything like it. The grate in the kitchen range has just collapsed, too.” “Really? That’s bad—” “It’s worse than bad—it’s awful.” “We must let the stove people know—” “How are you going to do that on Sunday?” “Oh—ah—well, it matters less I suppose on Sunday than if it happened on a week-day.” “It won’t matter in the least, of course, to have no hot water to wash the clothes in, Monday morning. Perhaps _you’ll_ think it matters more when it comes to eating cold things for I don’t know how long.” “I think you’ll find I shall be able to put up with—” “Yes, it’s perfectly true, I always find you readier to put up with disaster than to struggle against it.” “How would you propose I should struggle against a broken stove?” She turned her flushed face from him. “Didn’t I tell you not to kick the table?” she demanded of Jack.