“Why--so we would, but there was always a talk of sending Conrade and Francis home. I am afraid you will think them very backward, dear Rachel, especially Francie; but it is not their fault, dear children, and they are not used to strangers,” added Fanny, nervously. “I do not mean to be a stranger,” said Rachel. And while Fanny, in confusion, made loving protestations about not meaning that, Rachel stepped out upon the lawn, and in her clear voice called “Conrade, Francis!” No answer. She called “Conrade” again, and louder, then turned round with “where can they be--not gone down on the beach?” “Oh, dear no, I trust not,” said the mother, flurried, and coming to the window with a call that seemed to Rachel’s ears like the roar of a sucking dove. But from behind the bushes forth came the two young gentlemen, their black garments considerably streaked with the green marks of laurel climbing. “Oh, my dears, what figures you are! Go to Coombe and get yourselves brushed, and wash your hands, and then come down, and bring your lesson books.” Rachel prognosticated that these preparations would be made the occasion, of much waste of time; but she was answered, and with rather surprised eyes, that they had never been allowed to come into the drawing-room without looking like little gentlemen. “But you are not living in state here,” said Rachel; “I never could enter into the cult some people, mamma especially, pay to their drawing-room.” “The Major used to be very particular about their not coming to sit down untidy,” said Fanny. “He said it was not good for anybody.” Martinet! thought Rachel, nearly ready to advocate the boys making no toilette at any time; and the present was made to consume so much time that, urged by her, Fanny once more was obliged to summon her boys and their books. It was not an extensive school library--a Latin grammar an extremely dilapidated spelling-book, and the fourth volume of Mrs. Marcet’s “Little Willie.” The other three--one was unaccounted for, but Cyril had torn up the second, and Francis had thrown the first overboard in a passion. Rachel looked in dismay. “I don’t know what can be done with these!” she said. “Oh, then we’ll have holidays till we have got books, mamma,” said Conrade, putting his hands on the sofa, and imitating a kicking horse. “It is very necessary to see what kind of books you ought to have,” returned Rachel. “How far have you gone in this?” “I say, mamma,” reiterated Conrade, “we can’t do lessons without books.” “Attend to what your Aunt Rachel says, my dear; she wants to find out what books you should have.” “Yes, let me examine you.” Conrade came most inconveniently close to her; she pushed her chair back; he came after her. His mother uttered a remonstrating, “My dear!” “I thought she wanted to examine me,” quoth Conrade. “When Dr. M’Vicar examines a thing, he puts it under a microscope.”