With Mrs. Hudson as expositor, and Miss Brown as chorus, Mrs. _Bo_-gardus’s glory could not wane. She shone upon us, enigmatic, sphinx-like, throughout a somewhat oppressive meal. No one but Mrs. Hudson ventured to mingle in the conversation. Indeed, it was not necessary. Ernie waited very prettily; the croquettes were silently engulfed, likewise the custards. And, despite Mrs. _Bo_-gardus’s sensitive “stummick,” we were encouraged to believe that they would _sit_. “My dear, will you play for us?” Mrs. Hudson asked after lunch. “Mrs. _Bo_-gardus is very fond of music.” It was rather a royal command than a request, but without an _e_ string what could one do? “Then perhaps your little brother will recite?” persisted Mrs. Hudson. “What shall I say, Elizabeth?” asked Robin, obligingly. “Suppose you say ‘My Shadow,’” I suggested. So Bobsie, flushed and honoured, standing on the worn Bokhara rug, began:— “I have a little shadow that goes in and out with me, And what can be the use of him is more than I can see.” The ladies sat about the parlour, their hands folded in their laps, Mrs. _Bo_-gardus with her head a little to one side as if listening for a false note, Mrs. Hudson pompously responsible, Miss Brown meekly appreciative. “The funniest thing about him is the way he likes to grow,— Not at all like proper children, which is always rather slow,” piped Robin in his pretty treble. “For he sometimes shoots up taller,——” Mrs. _Bo_-gardus’s head tilted just a little to the left. “Shoots?” queried Mrs. Hudson. “Are you sure of that word _Shoots_?” Robin paused, and looked doubtfully at me. “Yes,” I answered. “Shoots is right.” “—like an india-rubber ball,” continued Robin. Mrs. _Bo_-gardus’s head again cocked towards the left, and a slightly pained expression gathered between her brows. “Isn’t it _plant_, my dear?” corrected Mrs. Hudson. “Since the first word is _shoots_ it certainly must be an india-rubber _plant_?” “No,” I said, “ball is right.” “And he sometimes gets so little that there’s none of him at all,” persisted Robin, bravely. Mrs. _Bo_-gardus pursed her lips. “Well, well,” concluded Mrs. Hudson, hurriedly. “This is a very pretty piece, no doubt, and we are much obliged; but Mrs. _Bo_-gardus can’t sit here all the afternoon listening to one little boy recite, when she might hear twenty any day she pleased, all with kindergarten training, too! There are some photographs we have planned to look over upstairs, so _if_ you will excuse us——” And the two ladies, rising with majestic accord, swept from the room. It was rather dampening, to be sure, but Bobsie bore it well. Only his lower lip trembled a little as he asked,— “It couldn’t have been a rubber-plant, now could it, Ellie?” That is his pet name for me. He uses it when he stands in need of comfort. “No, honey,” I answered. “It certainly couldn’t.”