"And you'll remember," said Bertram, "how you promised us--promised us _with all your might,_ that we should come to Melcombe." "Yes, all of us," proceeded Anastasia; "he said the little ones too." "So you should have done, you poor darlings, but for that accident," said Valentine. "And we were to see the pears and apples gathered, and have such fun. Do you know that you're a sort of uncle now to us?" "What sort? The right sort?" "Yes, and now when shall we come?" "I am afraid I shall be away all the winter." "In the spring, then, and father and the dear mamma." "It's a long time till the spring," said Valentine, with a sigh; "but if I am at Melcombe then-" "You'll have us?" "Yes." "Then let it be in the Easter holidays," said Johnnie, "that I may come too." "All right," said Valentine, and he took leave of them, and departed in one of their father's carriages for the Junction, muttering as he looked back at the house, "No, you'll never see Melcombe, youngsters. I shall be at the other end of the earth, perhaps, by that time." "Oh, what a long time to wait!" quoth the younger Mortimers; "five months and a half to Easter--twenty-three weeks--twenty-three times seven--what a lot of days! Now, if we were going to sea, as the Brandon baby is, we shouldn't mind waiting. What a pity that such a treat should come to a little stupid thing that does nothing but sputter and crow instead of to us! Such a waste of pleasure." They had never heard of "the irony of fate," but in their youthful manner they felt it then. So St. George Mortimer Brandon was borne off to the _Curlew_, and there, indifferent to the glory of sunsets, or the splendour of bays and harbours, he occupied his time in cutting several teeth, in learning to seize everything that came near him, and in finding out towards the end of the time how to throw or drop his toys overboard. He was even observed on a calm day to watch these waifs as they floated off, and was confidently believed to recognise them as his own property, while in such language as he knew, which was not syllabic, he talked and scolded at them, as if, in spite of facts, he meant to charge them with being down there entirely through their own perversity. There is nothing so unreasonable as infancy, excepting the maturer stages of life. His parents thought all this deeply interesting. So did the old uncle, who put down the name of St. George Mortimer Brandon for a large legacy, and was treated by the legatee with such distinguishing preference as seemed to suggest that he must know what he was about, and have an eye already to his own interests.