"You have the chance of both just now." Stephen thought he would get the worse interview over first. He accordingly went straight on into Civil School Lane, which ran right across the north portion of Christ Church, coming out just above Saint Aldate's, pursued his way forward by Pennyfarthing Street, and turning up a few yards of Castle Street, found himself at the drawbridge leading to the porter's lodge where his brother lived. There were voices inside the Lodge; and Stephen paused for a moment before lifting the latch. "Oh dear, dear!" said a querulous voice, which he recognised as that of Anania, "I never thought to be laid by the heels like this!--not a soul coming in to see a body, and those children that ungovernable--Gilbert, get off that ladder! and Selis, put the pitchfork down this minute! Not a bit of news any where, and if there were, not a creature coming in to tell one of it! Eline, let those buttons alone, or I'll be after--Oh deary dear, I can't!" Stephen lifted the latch and looked in. Anania lay on a comfortable couch, drawn up by the fire; and at a safe distance from it, her four children were running riot--turning out all her treasures, inspecting, trying on, and occasionally breaking them--knowing themselves to be safe from any worse penalty than a scolding, for which evidently they cared nothing. "You seem to want a bit of help this afternoon," suggested Stephen coolly, collaring Selis, from whom he took the pitchfork, and then lifting Gilbert off the ladder, to the extreme disapprobation of both those young gentlemen, as they showed by kicks and angry screams. "Come, now, be quiet, lads: one can't hear one's self speak." "Stephen! is it you?" cried Anania incredulously, trying to lift herself to see him better, and sinking back with a groan. "Looks rather like me, doesn't it? I am sorry to find you suffering, Sister." "I've suffered worse than any martyr in the Calendar, Stephen!--and those children don't care two straws for me. Nobody knows what I've gone through. Are you come home for good? Oh dear, this pain!" "No, only for a look at you. I had a little business to bring me this way. How is Osbert?" "He's well enough to have never a bit of sympathy for me. Where are you living, Stephen, and what do you do now?" "Oh, up London way; I'm a baker. Have you poulticed that foot, Anania?" "I've done all sorts of things to it, and it's never--Julian, if you touch that clasp, I declare I'll--Are you married, Stephen?" "Married, and have one more trouble than you," answered Stephen laughingly, as he took the clasp from his youthful and inquisitive niece; "but my children are not troublesome, I am thankful to say. I was going to tell you that marsh-mallows makes one of the finest poultices you can have. Pluck it when Jupiter is in the ascendant, and the moon on the wane, and you'll find it first-rate for easing that foot of yours.--Gilbert, I heard thy mother tell thee not to go up the ladder."