"Thou hast ordered the robe to be so perfect, so in accordance with the Royal mode, the child will be in torment. Indeed, I am afraid 'twill make the little lady ill to be so encased. Ah! but thou art great folk, and, as Dent hath said, such people 'spend their time in tricking and trimming, pricking and pinning, pranking and pouncing, girding and lacing and braving up themselves in most exquisite manner;--these doubled and redoubled ruffles, these strouting fardingales, long locks and fore tufts;--it was never a good world since starching and steeling, buskes and whalebones, supporters and rebatoes, full moons and hobbyhorses came into use.' I doubt not that Father Pomphrey himself will demur at such cruelty." But the chest came in time, and Katherine was satisfied. The castle was filled with guests, and the nurseries full of bright young children waiting impatiently to be taken to the great picture-gallery, where, under the limned faces of many generations, the christening was to take place. An altar had been raised; and upon it was the golden service, a little apart the font, and upon either side of the long gallery were flowers banked 'neath specially honoured portraits. At the appointed hour the children defiled down the long room, then came the other guests, and finally Sir Julian Pomphrey in his robe of office--Father Pomphrey, so elegant, loving, good; a princely priest. Then came Janet with little Lady Ann in her arms; the child appearing like an Egyptian mummy in white bands. The Duke and Duchess looked handsome and proud, And when the celebration was concluded, all form was dissipated, the children gathering about the youngster for a "peep," then scampered to the flowers. And as the elder folk looked on, some one opined that the human nosegay was more gorgeous of apparel and glow of cheek than the Ayrshire rose or the twisted eglantine. Then suddenly the children gathered about a single portrait of remarkable rich colouring, and little Lady Margaret came running and saying with a lisp,-- "Come, see, Father; 'tis the prettiest picture here, and there are no flowers 'neath it." "What, no flowers?" and Father Pomphrey looked down in feigned surprise. "Why, here _is_ a flower!" and the child lifted a crushed immortelle from the parquetry and gave it to the priest, who quickly made the sign of the cross and said something almost inaudible about the flower being prophetic; and then he leant close to the child's ear, saying,-- "Will Lady Margaret do something for Father Pomphrey?" "Aye, anything--" "Remember always to pray for the soul of Lady Constance Clarmot." Then raising the flower, he said abstractedly,--"What gems of thought we find in the Garden of Youth!" End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Mistress Penwick, by Dutton Payne