“Oh, mamma, can’t they be tied on the outside of the bag? I could carry them all together myself. I do want to take them with me so much. In the roll are ever so many drawing-copies, such as we had at school, and some that were given us on the Christmas-tree. Fani spoke of them in one of his letters, and I’m sure he’ll be delighted to have them. I put in all ours, and I borrowed some from the master, who said I could have them if I would take great care of them and bring them safely back again.” “What foolishness, Emma! You seem to forget that, for the last year, Fani has had his own drawing-teacher, who gives his pupils what he thinks best for them to copy, and, doubtless, has plenty of patterns of all kinds. So take the roll away; it would be absurd to carry it. And that hideous bundle, what is in it? It is twice too big to go in here.” “I was afraid it would be,” said Emma, rather crestfallen. “But I thought I could carry it in my lap, and, really, I must take it, mamma. It is that book which I chose for a Christmas present, you know; the ‘Lives of Distinguished Painters.’ I want to carry it for Fani to read; and, for fear of hurting the handsome binding, I wrapped it up in two petticoats and a waterproof cloak and a small table-cloth, and then I put some enamel-cloth outside the whole.” “You do get hold of most unfortunate ideas, my child! we shall never get ready at this rate. Come, we’ll take the book out of all these wrappings, and then perhaps we can get it in. But you haven’t brought anything that you really need, though you have had such a long time to think about it all. And here aunty and I are standing waiting and can’t get through, because you have nothing ready for us.” At this moment aunty exclaimed, in a tone of alarm:-- “For pity’s sake, Oscar! what is that that you are tugging along?” With a tremendous racket Oscar came into the room, dragging behind him a drum, which he could not carry, because in one hand he had a large bunch of bells and in the other a harmonica and a flute. “Oscar dear, your own good-sense can tell you that you can’t get a drum into this bag; to say nothing of the other instruments. What in the world do you want with them? Mrs. Stanhope wouldn’t thank you for such music!” “It isn’t for the house, aunty,” answered the boy. “It is for the festival out-of-doors. I’ve taken only Fred’s small drum, because mine is too large. See if it won’t go in here!” and Oscar measured the drum against his travelling-bag, only to be compelled to acknowledge that it was too large by half. The bells, too, had to be laid aside, though the boy complained that they were absolutely needed to call the guests together at the festival. “Whose flute is that?” asked the aunt; “it is a beauty.” “It belongs to Feklitus. He is learning to play on it; and he was glad enough to lend it to me, because while it’s gone he can’t be made to practise!”