Aunt Amanda looked at him, as he sat so seriously on his hassock at her feet, munching his fruit-cake and sipping his lemonade; and she pulled out her pocket-handkerchief and blew her nose again, very loud. She appeared to have a cold. Toby paid no attention to her; his head was lying sidewise on his left arm on the table, and he was squinting at the sheet of paper, and every time his pen came down he closed his mouth tight, and every time his pen went up he opened his mouth wide. Freddie and Aunt Amanda had plenty of time to talk. Under the softening influence of fruit-cake and lemonade Freddie found his tongue. "What's a Churchwarden?" he said suddenly into the lemonade-glass, which was just under his nose. "Bless the baby!" said Aunt Amanda. "It's a long clay pipe, young man," said Toby, chewing the end of his pen-holder, "like you've seen in the case out there in the shop." "That ain't what he means," said Aunt Amanda. "You mean a man, don't you, Freddie?" "Yes'm," said Freddie, looking at the cake just going into his mouth. "It's a man," said Aunt Amanda, "it's a man that belongs to a church, and he stands guard over the church property, and sees to the repairs, and beats little boys with a cane when they make a noise during service, and takes care nobody don't run away with the collection money, and----" "How do you spell 'respectfully'?" said Toby, scratching his head with the pen. "Yours respectfully." "R-e--" began Aunt Amanda, "s-p-e-c-k--no, that ain't right,--r-e-s--" "There's one over at that church," said Freddie, pointing towards the window, "and he smokes one, too." "One what, Freddie?" said Aunt Amanda. "A Churchwarden. There's a Churchwarden sits out on the pavement and he smokes a Churchwarden, he does." Freddie was rather proud that he had mastered that difficult word, and he liked to hear himself say it. "Oh," said Toby, "I reckon he means the sextant over there. Well, 'Yours respectfully.' I don't give a--hum!--how you spell it. There she goes. Done. 'Yours respectfully, Toby Littleback.' It's blotted up some, by crackey, that's a fact; but I ain't a-goin' to write all that over again, not by a jugful." And he took out his handkerchief and wiped the perspiration from his forehead. "He's a Churchwarden," insisted Freddie, swallowing the last of the lemonade after the last of the cake. "All right," said Toby, "have it your own way. But a sextant's as good as a Churchwarden, in _my_ opinion, any day of the week,--except Sunday, of course." Aunt Amanda inspected the letter, and declared herself horrified by the blots; but Toby positively refused to go through that exhausting labor again, so she passed it grudgingly, and handed it to Freddie in an envelope, and told him to give it to his mother as soon as he got home. "Do you want some more cake and lemonade?" said she. "Yes'm," said he. "Well, you won't get it, so trot along home."