Yet it was a pretty scene--with Marian’s beautiful face at one side of the table, and the bright intelligence of Agnes at the other--the rosy children on the rug, the father reposing from his day’s labour, the mother busy with her sweet familiar never-ending cares; even Charlie, ugly and characteristic, added to the family completeness. The head of the house was only a clerk in a merchant’s office, with a modest stipend of two hundred pounds a-year. All the necessities of the family, young and old, had to be supplied out of this humble income. You may suppose there was not much over, and that the household chancellor of the exchequer had enough to do, even when assisted by that standing committee with which she consulted solemnly over every little outlay. The committee was prudent, but it was not infallible. Agnes, the leading member, had extravagant notions. Marian, more careful, had still a weakness for ribbons and household embellishments, bright and clean and new. Sometimes the committee _en permanence_ was abruptly dismissed by its indignant president, charged with revolutionary sentiments, and a total ignorance of sound financial principles. Now and then there occurred a monetary crisis. On the whole, however, the domestic kingdom was wisely governed, and the seven Athelings, parents and children, lived and prospered, found it possible to have even holiday dresses, and books from the circulating library, ribbons for the girls, and toys for the babies, out of their two hundred pounds a-year. Tea was on the table; yet the first thing to be done was to open out the little paper parcels, which proved to contain enclosures no less important than those very ribbons, which the finance committee had this morning decided upon as indispensable. Mrs Atheling unrolled them carefully, and held them out to the light. She shook her head; they had undertaken this serious responsibility all by themselves, these rash imprudent girls. “Now, mamma, what do you think? I told you we could choose them; and the man said they were half as dear again six months ago,” cried the triumphant Marian. Again Mrs Atheling shook her head. “My dears,” said the careful mother, “how do you think such a colour as this can last till June?” This solemn question somewhat appalled the youthful purchasers. “It is a very pretty colour, mamma,” said Agnes, doubtfully. “So it is,” said the candid critic; “but you know it will fade directly. I always told you so. It is only fit for people who have a dozen bonnets, and can afford to change them. I am quite surprised at you, girls; you ought to have known a great deal better. Of course the colour will fly directly: the first sunny day will make an end of that. But _I_ cannot help it, you know; and, faded or not faded, it must do till June.” The girls exchanged glances of discomfiture. “Till June!” said Agnes; “and it is only March now. Well, one never knows what may happen before June.”