I thought of Uncle Buller's "collection," and was about to ask if the new "beasts" were insects, when Eleanor, after a doubtful glance into the cans, said, "Have you brought any fresh water?" Mrs. Arkwright pointed triumphantly to a big stone-bottle cased in wickerwork, under which the cabman was staggering towards the door. It looked like spirits or vinegar, but was, as I discovered, seawater for the aquarium. With this I had already made acquaintance, having helped Eleanor to wipe the mouths of certain spotted sea anemones with a camel's-hair brush every day since my arrival. "The Crassys are much more beautiful," she assured me, as we helped Mrs. Arkwright to find places for the new-comers. "We call them Crassys because their name is Crassicornis. I don't believe they'll live, though, they are so delicate." "I rather think it may be because being so big they get hurt in being taken off the rocks," said Mrs. Arkwright, "and we were very careful with these." "I'm _afraid_ the Serpulæ won't live!" said Eleanor, gazing anxiously with puckered brows into the glass tank. Mrs. Arkwright was about to reply, when the dogs burst into the room, and, after nearly upsetting both us and the aquarium, bounded out again. "Dear boys!" cried Eleanor. And "Dear boys!" murmured Mrs. Arkwright from behind the magnifying glass, through which she was examining the "beasts." "I wonder what they're running in and out for?" said I. The reason proved to be that supper was ready, and the dogs wanted us to come into the dining-room. Mr. Arkwright announced it in more sedate fashion, and took me with him, leaving Eleanor and her mother to follow us. "In three days more," said Eleanor, as we sat down, "the boys will be here, and then we shall be quite happy." Eleanor and I were as much absorbed by the prospect of the boys' arrival as we had been by the coming of her parents. We made a "ruin" at the top of the little gardens, which did not quite fulfil our ideal when all was done, but we hoped that it would look better when the ivy was more luxuriant. We made all the beds look very tidy. The fourth bed was given to me. "Now you _are_ our sister!" Eleanor cried. "It seems to make it so real now you have got _her_ bed." We thoroughly put in order the old nursery, which was now "the boys' room," a proceeding in which Growler and Pincher took great interest, jumping on and off the beds, and smelling everything as we set it out. Growler was Clement's dog, I found, and Pincher belonged to Jack. "They'll come in a cab, because of the luggage," said Eleanor, "and because we are never quite sure when they will come; so it's no use sending to meet them. They often miss trains on purpose to stay somewhere on the road for fun. But I think they'll come all right this time--I begged them to--and we'll go and meet them in the donkey-carriage."