"Let us all say it together," Mr. Wycherly gasped, painfully drawing himself a little higher up in the bed, "and do you think you could sit a little more to one side, or a little further forward, or a little lower down, or anywhere except just where you are at present?" "Edmund heavy boy," that youth remarked proudly. "He is," Mr. Wycherly fervently agreed, "a very heavy boy—ah, that’s better now." "Hickory, dickory, dock" was now performed in chorus, and if one of the trio made any mistakes, his companions were making such a row that they did not detect him. At the conclusion of the verse the little boys gave Mr. Wycherly a practical demonstration as to what they meant by tickling. It was only when the racket had somewhat subsided that they heard Robina’s timid voice outside the door bidding the children come at once to their breakfast. "Det up, man," Edmund directed, "and take me to ’Obina." "You are perfectly able to trot across to the door," said Mr. Wycherly, mildly remonstrant and much exhausted. "Come in," shouted Edmund, "come and fesh me." "No, don’t do anything of the kind," cried Mr. Wycherly, horror-stricken; "he can quite well come to you." "I’ll surely no come in," said Robina in a slightly offended voice. "They’re to come oot at once, the mistress is waitin’ breakfast." "Me tiahed," Edmund announced, languidly lying down beside Mr. Wycherly. "Me tay heah." Robina knocked sharply. "Come at once," she cried. "Please, sir, make them come, or the mistress will be rale vexed." "Go, Montagu," said Mr. Wycherly firmly. "I suppose I must carry this—myself." Robina, outside, heard much gurgling and giggling on the part of Edmund, as Mr. Wycherly arose and hastily donned his dressing-gown. He carried the struggling baby across to the door, which he had to open widely in order to give his charge into his nurse’s arms. Montagu departed with his little brother, but not one moment sooner. Mr. Wycherly shut and locked his door, only to remember that he had left his hot water outside. When he had secured it and again made the door fast, he sank upon his bed: "I must certainly lock my door overnight," he reflected; "to be tickled is a truly dreadful experience." He dressed to the rhythm of "Hickory, dickory, dock," and although the two things had no sort of connection he found himself thinking of the forget-me-nots on the banks of the Cherwell; they were exactly the colour of Baby Edmund’s eyes. It had already become a matter of course that the children should spend half an hour in Mr. Wycherly’s study before they went to bed.