They were left in his charge while Robina got things ready for the night, and he strove to make the time pass pleasantly for them by every means in his power. Edmund’s requests were occasionally a little difficult to understand, as although his speech was fluent and his vocabulary singularly large for his age, he had a habit of omitting any consonant that was troublesome to pronounce. Both "l" and "r" were of this number. He did not attempt to provide a substitute but simply left the letter out, and nothing delighted old Elsa more than to hear him repeat after her—"’ound the ’ugged ’ock the ’adical ’ascals ’an." Mr. Wycherly did his best to correct this defect in Edmund’s speech, and on this particular evening was showing him a picture book of coloured animals. "Poor little Edmund can’t say lion," he said sadly, apropos of a picture of the king of beasts. "He can say tigah," that infant rejoined cheerfully; "no maw pitchers. Man, make a ’abbit," and Edmund scrambled off Mr. Wycherly’s knee the better to behold the feat in question. Mr. Wycherly shook his head hopelessly while Montagu shyly explained: "He means a rabbit out of a handkerchief, you know. Daddie always did it, and it ran up his arm and jumped so. _Do_ make one!" Mr. Wycherly almost groaned. He hadn’t the faintest notion how to make a rabbit, and felt that he had lived in vain. He proposed building a tower with some bricks that the children had brought with them, but Edmund would have none of such well-worn devices. He persisted in his demands for "a ’abbit," growing more and more vociferous, till his wishes culminated in a roar that brought Robina to the rescue and to Mr. Wycherly’s door, whence she bore Edmund away, wailing dismally. Mr. Wycherly, helpless and distressed, looked appealingly at Montagu, who only said rather reproachfully, "You might learn to make a rabbit, you know," and followed Robina. Almost unconsciously the student’s eyes sought the book-shelves where generally was to be found any information that he wanted; but among the familiar calf-bound backs there was not one that seemed to promise any information about the manufacture of rabbits, and for the first time Mr. Wycherly felt dissatisfied with a scholarship that seemed to ignore so many possible contingencies in a man’s life. Of what use was the utmost familiarity with Aristotle’s Politics if an indignant baby could put one so wholly out of countenance? For a few minutes he moved restlessly about the room, then he took his hat and went out. He had a vaguely formulated plan in his head that he would knock at the door of every house in the village till he found somebody capable of instructing him in the art of making rabbits; for learn he would, even if he had to advertise in the "Scottish Press" for a teacher.