"You will indeed be clever if you can make Mr. Aldean work, Margery," said Mallow, smiling. "I have never been successful so far." "Please excuse her, Lord Aldean," said the shocked Mrs. Drabble. "It is her father who puts these ideas into her head. Margery, how can you?" "Oh, we all know that the doctor is working for the social millennium, Mrs. Drabble; the time when there will be neither rich nor poor, and we shall all practise communism." "I'm sure I wish the doctor would practise his profession, Lord Aldean. But Mr. Dyke, that new man, gets all his best cases, whilst he is constantly in London working for the cause. As if preaching in Trafalgar Square is of any use to me. I never know the day when he may be in gaol; and then what shall I do with these seven children?" "I'll support us all with my poetry, mother," said Margery, grandly. "Poetry!" said Mallow, laughing. "And pray what kind of poetry do you write, young lady?" "The poetry of Revolt; that is what father calls it;" and Margery, stretching out a lean arm, proceeded to recite these terrible lines:-- "Tyrants tremble in your beds, We shall cut off all your heads, Take your money and your land, And as freemen take our stand; This is not a foolish gabble, But the word of Margery Drabble." The young men roared, both at the poetry and the fierce attitude of the child. "You are quite a Revolutionist, Margery," said Aldean, "and a poetess to boot. E. B. Browning; Sappho in a Phrygian cap, eh?" The little girl shook her red curls. "I aspire to be like Louise Michel," she said solemnly, "the noblest of all women." "Wouldn't you rather grow up like Miss Bellairs," said Mallow, persuasively. "Ah!" groaned Mrs. Drabble, dismally, "where are the education and money to come from?" "I love Olive. I am very fond of Olive," said Margery judiciously, "but I do not approve of her choice of a husband." "Don't you indeed," laughed Mallow. "No. I have advised her to marry either you or Lord Aldean." "Margery, Margery, do not be so pert." "I am not pert, mother, I am a Thinker." "With a large T," said Aldean, rising. "Well, Margery, you must come and see me soon, and we will ravage the orchards." "Apples, strawberries, peaches--oh my!" cried Margery, a child for the nonce, "I should like to have as many as I could eat." "Well, I dare say we can satisfy even your appetite. Come soon, and bring us some more poetry with you. Mr. Mallow and I must be going now. There, dear, you won't refuse that, will you?" and he slipped a half-sovereign into the child's hand. "No," replied Margery the Communist. "'What's yours is mine'--father says so--but thank you very much, Mr. Aldean." "Lord Aldean, Margery," corrected her mother. "Father says there are no lords, mother; this is plain Mr. Aldean." "There is a reflection on your lordship's good looks," said Mallow. "Well, Margery, when you begin cutting off heads, I hope you will spare us, eh?"