Miss Fosbrook breathed freely, and she had almost said, “Thank you, Sam,” but she did not think this was the time; and collecting herself, she said, “Fun is all very well, and I hope we shall have plenty, but we ought not to let it grow riotous; and I don’t think it was of a good sort when it was complaining of the food provided for us.” The children were all rather subdued by what she said; some felt a little cross, and some rather ashamed; and when Mary brought back the dish replenished with slices, no one said a word as to whether the butter were thick or thin. The silence seemed to David a favourable occasion for renewing the great question, “How does a pig pay the rent?” There was a general giggle, and again Miss Fosbrook was as bad as any: while David, looking affronted, tapped the table with the handle of his spoon, and repeated, “I want to know.” “I’ll tell you, Davy man,” began Henry, first recovering. “The pig is a very sagacious animal, especially in Hampshire, and so he smells out wherever the bags of money are sown underground, and digs them up with his nose. Then he swings them on his back, and gives a curl of his tail and a wink of his eye, and lays them down just before the landlord’s feet; and he’s so cunning, that not an inch will he budge till he’s got the receipt, with a stamp upon it, on his snout.” “No; now is that a true story?” cried little Annie, who was the only person except David grave enough to speak; while Sam, exploding in the window, called out, “Why, don’t you know that’s why pigs have rings in their noses?” “There was a lady loved a swine; ‘Honey,’ says she, I’ll give you a silver trough.’ ‘Hunks!’ says he,” continued Hal; “that shows his disinterestedness. Oh, werry sagacious haminals is pigs!” “For shame, Hal,” cried Elizabeth, “to confuse the children with such nonsense.” “Why, don’t you think I know how the rent is paid? I’ve seen Papa on rent-day hundreds of times.” “But the pigs, Hal; did you ever see the pigs?” “Thousands of times.” “Bringing bags of gold? O Hal! Hal!” “I want to know,” continued David, who had been digesting the startling fact, “how the pig swings the bag on his back? I don’t think ours could do it.” “It’s a sort made on purpose,” said Hal. “Made on purpose by Mr. Henry Merrifield,” said Susan, at last able to speak. “Don’t believe one word, David dear; Hal is laughing at you.” “But how does a pig do it?” asked David, returning to the charge. “Why do you want to know, my dear?” asked Miss Fosbrook. “Mary’s sister said so.” “I know,” exclaimed Susan; “Davy went out with the nursery children to-day, and they went to see Mary’s sister. Her husband is drowned because he was a sailor; and the _Mermaid_ went to South America; and there are five little tiny children.” “Of the mermaid’s?” cried Harry.