Thus Cicely conquered the babies once for all. Harry, too much astounded by thus seeing his lead taken from him to make any remonstrance, followed his brother in dumb surprise, and stood against her, leaning on her knee. They made the prettiest group; for, as Mab said, even when they are ugly, how pretty children are! and they "compose" so beautifully with a pretty young woman, making even a commonplace mother into a Madonna and Lady of Blessing. Cicely sang them a song, so very low down in the scale at once both of music and of poetry that I dare not shock the refined reader by naming it, especially after that well-worn comparison; and this time both Harry and Charley joined in the encore, the latter too happy to think of withdrawing that cherished thumb from his mouth, murmuring thickly, "Adain." "But, oh, what a waste of time--what a waste of time it will be!" cried poor Cicely, when she took refuge in the garden, putting the delicate children to play upon a great rug, stretched on the grass. "To be sure there will be one mouth less to feed, which is always something. You must help me a little while I write my letters, Mab." "Who are you going to write to?" said Mab, with colloquial incorrectness which would have shocked out of their senses the Miss Blandys, and all the excellent persons concerned in bringing her up. "Oh yes, I will try to help; but won't you forgive Annie, just for this little time, and let her stay?" "I can't be defied in my own house," said Cicely, erecting her head with an air which frightened Mab herself; "and I must take to it sooner or later. Wherever we go, it is I that must look after them. Well! it will be a trouble at first; but I shall like it when I get fond of them. Mab, we ought to be fond of them now." Mab looked at the children, and then laughed. "I don't hate them," she said; "they are such funny little things, as if they had been born about a hundred years before their time. I believe, really, they are not children at all, but old, old men, that know a great deal more than we do. I am sure that Charley could say something very wonderful if he liked. He has a great deal in him, if he would but take his thumb out of his mouth." "Charley is my boy," said Cicely, brightening up; "he is the one I like best." "I like him best, too. He is the funniest. Are you going to write there?"