She was a pretty, plump girl, with dark eyes and a rosy face. Endowed with a large amount of common sense, her tastes lay in the direction of making puddings and mending clothes, whilst she evinced a great contempt for poetry and such-like things. Mrs. Larcher, being an invalid, left the management of the house entirely to Pumpkin, who ruled the servants with a rod of iron, looked after the creature comforts of her father and his pupils, and was besides a bright, lively girl whom everyone adored. As to Mrs. Larcher, she was always ill, but why she should be so was a mystery to everyone save herself. It was either her nerves or her liver or her spine or her laziness, most probably the latter, as she mostly passed her life alternating between the sofa and her bed. Occasionally she strolled out, but always came back feeling weak and bad, to be strengthened with strong tea and hot muffins, after which she would bewail her delicate constitution in a subdued whimper. Her unknown malady was known to all as "The Affliction," that being a generic name for all kinds of diseases, and Mrs. Larcher herself alluded to her ill health by this title as being a happy one and necessitating no special mention of any one infirmity. Pumpkin looked after everything and was the good fairy of the vicarage, while Mrs. Larcher lay all day on her sofa reading novels and drinking tea, or gossiping with any visitors who might drop in. At present Mrs. Larcher was safe in bed upstairs and Pumpkin presided at the breakfast-table, which was now covered with an array of empty dishes, as the male portion of the vicarage inmates, with the exception of the poet, had large appetites. Dr. Larcher, however, had been too excited to eat much, and had his eyes intently fixed upon his newly-discovered bronze implement. "It's a wonderful example of what the ancient Britons could do," he said grandiloquently, "and to my mind, I proves no mean standard of civilisation." "Even in that age of barbarism," observed the poet enthusiastically, "they cultivated a love for the beautiful." "Oh, bosh," said Dick irreverently, "they wanted something to knock the stuffing out of an enemy." "Well, I think that sword could do it," remarked Pumpkin with a smile. "Suppose we try it on you, Dick." "No, thanks," retorted that young gentleman, grimacing, "I'll agree without practical proof." "I shall write an article on this," said Dr. Larcher, delicately balancing the sword in his hand. "Such a discovery will be a distinct gain to our knowledge of the aborigines of that dead and buried time of so long ago--_Eheu fugaces Postume labuntur anni_." "It breathes the very spirit of the age," cried Ferdinand with an inspired air: The age of Bronze, the age of Bronze Where Boadicea---- "Loved and sung," finished Dick. "I say old chap, you're cribbing from the Isles of Greece."