"Were you alone?" asked Gladys, hoping he had not been seen to run off. "Was I alone? Well, there was nobody present but myself, if you call that being alone--I don't. That fellow argues so; he's, so intrusive, and often makes such a noise that I can get no retirement for writing my poetry." "What a goose you are, Cray!" said Barbara. "I wish, though, you would speak lower." "Besides," continued Crayshaw, excusing himself to Mrs. Walker; "it's so dull being with George, he's always collecting things. The last time I saw him he was on his knees cleaning up a dingy old picture he'd just bought. Fanny stood beside him with a soapy flannel. She looked quite religious; she was so grave. I saw a red cabbage in the picture and a pot of porter, the froth extremely fine. 'I hope,' said George, very hot after his exertions, 'that when you are of age you will follow in my steps, and endow our common country with some of these priceless----' 'Common,' interrupted Mrs. Jannaway. 'Common country, do I hear aright, George Crayshaw?' (I don't love that old lady _much_.) 'George,' I said, for I pitied him for having a mother-in-law, 'when I get my money I shall pay a man to paint another old picture for you, as a companion to that. There shall be three mackerel in it, very dead indeed; they shall lie on a willow-pattern plate, while two cock-roaches that have climbed up it squint over the edge at them. There shall also be a pork-pie in it, and a brigand's hat. The composition will be splendid.' I took out my pocket-book and said, 'I'll make a mem. of it now.' So I did, and added, 'Mem.: Never to have a mother-in-law, unless her daughter is as pretty as Fanny Crayshaw.'" The little boys were now allowed to have tools and go on with their carving, still seated on the ground. The girls took out their tatting, and talk went on. "Mrs. Walker has just been saying that she cannot bear carving, and pictures of dead things," observed Barbara. "So, Cray, she will think you right to despise those your brother buys. And, Johnnie, she wishes to know about our pictures." "And those great sentences too," added Emily. "What do they mean?" "The big picture is Dover," said little Jamie, "and that Britannia sitting on the cliff, they cut out of _Punch_ and stuck on. You see she has a boot in her hand. It belongs to our Sham memory that father made for us." "It's nearly the same as what Feinangle invented," Johnnie explained. "The vowels do not count, but all the consonants stand for figures. Miss Crampton used to make the kids so miserable. She would have them learn dates, and they could not remember them." "Even Barbara used to cry over the dates," whispered Janie. "You needn't have told that," said Barbara sharply.