Bang on the top of this came the matter of Daniel and the Lion’s Den. Jim invented the game, and it was played by himself and Pouncer and Johnnie, the boy who cleaned the knives and boots. Johnnie’s tearful account of it was that Master Jim had persuaded him to be Daniel, and when he had got into the den――in other words the ashpit――Pouncer had been introduced, a veritable and only too eager lion. Wilfully encouraged according to Johnnie’s version, simply in a moment of high spirits according to Jim’s, the fact remained that the lion actually had bitten Daniel. There could be no doubt of it. A triangular, flapping rent in Johnnie’s trousers was in itself sufficient proof were such required; and this time Aunt Caroline was genuinely cross. Johnnie was――with considerable difficulty and some bribery――pacified; Johnnie’s trousers were attended to by Bridget; and Jim was told that if he gave any more trouble he would be sent to bed and kept there. He rejoined his brothers and sisters, the picture of outraged virtue. “He didn’t even bleed!” he said contemptuously. “He only got a pinch; and he yelled like a bull. He’s fifteen, too――nearly a man!” “What else can you expect if you play with a chap like that?” asked Edward contemptuously. “I’ll never play with him again. I offered him a shilling――it’s all I’ve got――but he went howling into the house.” As he spoke he produced from a pocket in his knickerbockers a rather dirty handkerchief rolled up into a ball, from the middle of which he abstracted two unappetizing-looking sweets. One of these he bestowed upon Ann, the other he proceeded to suck himself. Meanwhile the rain was coming down in torrents, and they looked out at it disconsolately, all save Grif, who, curled up on the sofa, was deep in a tattered volume of the _Arabian Nights_. “What’ll we do? It’s not going to clear up; it’s getting worse.” “Ann, _please_ don’t breathe into my ear!” There was a querulousness in Barbara’s tone which was perhaps explained by the depressing weather, and by the fact that before dinner she had been set to practise scales, when the others were free to do as they wished. “A fellow at school once tried to raise the devil,” said Palmer, reflectively. “He got how to do it out of some book on magic.” Ann’s eyes grew very round. “But wasn’t that awfully wicked, Balmer?” “Oh, he didn’t manage it. He couldn’t get the proper things.” “What _are_ the proper things?” asked Ann, fearfully.