“What, at seventy become a Peculiar Child of God? No, Bram, I may be in my second childhood, but it’s not going to be a peculiar second childhood.” “All the same, I wish you would come. I think you’ll laugh.” Bram’s dark eyes were twinkling so brightly in anticipation of the scene to-morrow morning that his grandmother’s curiosity was roused. However, he would not tell her why he advised her to sample the meeting-house for the first time in her life to-morrow. He still retained enough of the child’s suspicion of the grown-up’s theory of what is and what is not a good joke to make him cautious even with her, though he was extremely anxious to give the old lady the benefit of the diversion he had prepared. He was so urgent indeed that in the end she actually promised to come if she felt able to stand the prospect in the morning. Before going to bed Bram went into his brother’s room and paid him back the loan with interest. “And I’ll have my bat to-night, thank you very much,” he said. Caleb did not play cricket himself, but he was much disgusted at losing the bat, because he had planned to sell it for at least five shillings at the beginning of the summer term. “Look here, I’ll give you three shillings for it, if you don’t want to pay me back the money, Bram.” “No, thanks.” Caleb tried his last resource. Sleep was heavy on his eyelids, yet he managed to suffuse his pink podgy countenance with that bland, persuasive smile. “It isn’t really worth more than two shillings, Bram, but as you’re my brother I don’t mind giving you three for it.” Bram had one tintack left in his pocket. This he dug into Caleb’s fat leg. “Ouch! You cad,” Caleb squealed. “You cad! You cad! What is it?” “A tintack,” said Bram coolly. “Want it in again? No? All serene. Then hand over the bat.” He retired with his rescued treasure to his own room, and for five minutes in the joy of repossession he practised playing forward and back to the most devilishly tricky bowling until at last he caught the leg of the bedstead a whack which clanged through the nocturnal quiet of Lebanon House like an alarm bell. Whereupon Bram hurriedly put out the gas and jumped into bed. People were right when they said he was very young for his age and wondered how Joshua Fuller ever produced such a flipperty-gibbet of a son. The next morning was fine, and old Mrs. Fuller’s announcement that she was going to visit Bethesda threw the household into consternation. “Mamma!” the eldest daughter gasped. “Why, you’ve never....” Mrs. Fuller quelled poor Achsah instantly. “Thank you, my dear, I am not yet in my dotage. I know precisely what I have done and what I have not done in my life.” “You don’t think you’ll catch cold?” suggested Thyrza. “Not if your father preaches about Hell,” said the old lady. “If you’re coming to mock, mamma,” her son interposed, “I can’t help feeling it would be better if you stopped away.” “Hoity-toity, Master Joshua,” the old lady chuckled.