“The end of it will be we shall all have to turn out and become servants,” Marion used to say. That seemed a terrible thing. They had not been brought up to think that a servant is as good or as bad as a duchess. But then—who ever is? And so the time dragged on. After a time their father began to go regularly to town each morning, and things at home began to look a bit brighter. It’s wonderful what a change a little money can make after absolutely none; one feels one has a right to live in the world where otherwise one would be far better out of it. Next, the greatest thing was that the farmer was able to buy a new suit and a new hat. He looked quite a gentleman again and was once more able to attend the church. Still, though the cloud had lifted it had not by any means dispersed; only they had become so accustomed to the deep gloom that this partial lift seemed like the bright sunshine. CHAPTER VI In the front bedroom the gas had been lit and lowered. The objects in the room showed obscurely, till suddenly there flashed into it three lights—one purest white, one blending every colour of the rainbow, one brilliant red—but after the first clear flash more dusky. Plucritus leant his hand upon the wall and looked upon a picture. It was quite a small one—a simple print—but when the glowing light around him shone on it, it seemed to gain life and size out of all proportion to the room. “There! what do you think of my picture?” said he, turning to Genius. “Your picture? It belongs to me,” he answered. And there was evident annoyance in his tone. “Pardon,” replied Plucritus, lightly. “You and I lately seem rather to have rubbed each other and quarrelled over trifles. This is a little print in black and white—not worth a farthing—it is in an old frame scarce worth a cent. It is therefore worthy of the flames—and therefore, by most biblical reasoning, it belongs to me.” “The Bible be damned!” said Genius, striking his hand upon the maple bed-post. “I say it belongs to me.” “Virginius, he has _damned_ the Bible,” commented Plucritus, ignoring the last remark. He spoke in a half-serious, half-comic tone, with just a little heightening of surprise in it. “No,” said Genius, quickly recovering himself. “I simply wanted to express an opinion upon biblical reasoning.” “But still for all that you have damned the Bible.” “You enjoy the repetition.” “Well, it sticks to me. It is but a trifle; but then I remember trifles—life is made up of them.” “Yes. It is for that precise reason that I demand the rights of the picture. It belongs to me.” “Oh, I see. You wish it to stand as a kind of object-lesson picture. Is that it?” “Exactly.” “Then I give way at once. I did not quite understand you. I thought you meant to monopolise the personages represented in it.” “Well, so I do,” asserted Genius, smiling. “They are in some ways very nearly allied to me.” “Indeed?” said Plucritus, affecting astonishment.