Thus the Prince with great dignity and perfect good nature, while Archie looked modestly gratified with the flattering opinions of his kinsfolk, and Steve subsided, feeling he had done his duty as a cousin and a brother. A pause ensued, during which Aunt Jane appeared in the other room, accompanied by a tea-tray sumptuously spread, and prepared to feed her big nestling, as that was a task she allowed no one to share with her. “If you have a minute to spare before you go, child, I wish you'd just make Mac a fresh shade; this has got a berry stain on it, and he must be tidy, for he is to go out to-morrow if it is a cloudy day,” said Mrs. Jane, spreading toast in a stately manner, while Mac slopped his tea about without receiving a word of reproof. “Yes, aunt,” answered Rose, so meekly that the boys could hardly believe it could be the same voice which had issued the stern command, “Out of this room, every one of you!” not very long ago. They had not time to retire, without unseemly haste, before she walked into the parlour and sat down at the work-table without a word. It was funny to see the look the three tall lads cast at the little person sedately threading a needle with green silk. They all wanted to say something expressive of repentance, but no one knew how to begin, and it was evident, from the prim expression of Rose's face, that she intended to stand upon her dignity till they had properly abased themselves. The pause was becoming very awkward, when Charlie, who possessed all the persuasive arts of a born scapegrace, went slowly down upon his knees before her, beat his breast, and said, in a heart-broken tone, “Please forgive me this time, and I'll never do so any more.” It was very hard to keep sober, but Rose managed it and answered gravely, “It is Mac's pardon you should ask, not mine, for you haven't hurt me, and I shouldn't wonder if you had him a great deal, with all that light and racket, and talk about things that only worry him.” “Do you really think we've hurt him, cousin?” asked Archie, with a troubled look, while Charlie settled down in a remorseful heap among the table legs. “Yes, I do, for he has got a raging headache, and his eyes are as red as as this emery bag,” answered Rose, solemnly plunging her needle into a fat flannel strawberry. Steve tore his hair, metaphorically speaking, for he clutched his cherished top-knot, and wildly dishevelled it, as if that was the heaviest penance he could inflict upon himself at such short notice. Charlie laid himself out flat, melodramatically begging someone to take him away and hang him; but Archie, who felt worst of all, said nothing except to vow within himself that he would read to Mac till his own eyes were as red as a dozen emery bags combined.