"We tried to combine suitability of site with facility of access," Laurence condescended to explain. "But pray do not say another word," he added, waving his fingers like magic wands to induce John's silence. "The idea of my little Gazebo does not appeal to you. That is enough. I do not grudge the money already spent upon the foundations. Further discussion will irritate us all, and I for one have no wish to disturb the harmony of the season." Then exchanging his tone of polite martyrdom for the suave jocularity of a vicar, he continued: "And when are we to expect our Yuletide guests? I hear that the greater portion of your luggage is still in the care of the station-master at Wrottesford. If I can do anything to aid in the transport of what rumor says is our Christmas commissariat, do not hesitate to call upon my services. I am giving the Muse a holiday and am ready for anything. Harold, pass the marmalade, please." John felt incapable of further argument with Laurence and Hugh in combination, and having gained his point, he let the subject of the Gazebo drop. He was glad that Miss Hamilton was not here; he felt that she might have been rather contemptuous of what he tried to believe was "good-nature," but recognized in his heart as "meekness," even "feebleness." "When are Cousin Bertram and Cousin Viola coming?" Harold asked. "Wow-wow-wow!" Hugh imitated, and he was probably expressing the general opinion of Harold's re-entry into the breakfast-table conversation. "For goodness' sake, boy, don't talk about them as if they were elderly colonial connections," John commanded with the resurgent valor that Harold always inspired. "Bertram and Viola are coming to-morrow. By the way, Hilda, is there any accommodation for a monkey? I don't know for certain, but Bertram talked vaguely of bringing a monkey down. Possibly a small annex could be attached to the chickenhouse." "A monkey?" Edith exclaimed in alarm. "Oh, I hope it won't attack dear Frida." "I shall shoot him, if he does," Harold boasted. "I shot a mole last week." "No, you didn't, you young liar," Hugh contradicted. "It was killed by the trap." "Harold is always a very truthful little boy," said his mother, glaring. "Is he? I hadn't noticed it," Hugh retorted. "Far be it from me to indulge in odious comparisons," Laurence interposed, grandly. "But I cannot help being a trifle--ah--tickled by so much consideration's being exhibited on account of the temporary lodging of a monkey and so much animus--however, don't let us rake up a disagreeable topic." John thought it was a pity that his brother-in-law had not felt the same about raking up the lawn when after breakfast he was telling Huggins to fill in the hole and hearing that it was unlikely to lose the scar for a long time. "You could have knocked me down with a feather, sir, when they started in hacking away at a lovely piece of turf like that." "I'm sure I could," John agreed, warmly.