"Oh," this was Nell’s voice, "I wish I had a tail like a kitten, to run round and round after!" Miss Kezia’s expression grew painfully long-suffering. "If you were havin’ a tail in this London, there wouldn’t be room to run round after it!" Scorn vibrated in this voice. A pause. Thud—thud—patter— Then, with a startling suddenness, a wild Irish whoop. Miss Kezia jumped badly, and the angry, shamed colour flooded her cheeks. She rose—a quick succession of whoops sounded nearer and nearer—she went out into the hall. Denis was coming downstairs, two at a time, and performing an Irish jig at the same moment. The others were behind him. "May I request that you cease making those horrible noises? I do not want the police here, thinking murder is being committed." Unfortunately this struck their perverse minds as being intensely funny. Miss Kezia went back to the dining room, and they followed her to cold coffee and congealed porridge. But coffee as cold as the ice round the North pole, and porridge as congealed as lead, were powerless, as Miss Kezia’s disapproval was powerless, to quench the hilarity in the atmosphere that morning. "May I inquire why you have chosen to be three-quarters of an hour late this morning?" Heads were lifted from bowls of congealed porridge; laughter rippled round the table. "’Twasn’t we chose—it was the letters," Nell said, and her voice was almost a song, so gay was the lilt of it. Denis said blandly, "Put the blame on the postman, and the cap will fit him like a glove." Nell volunteered sweetly:— "They’re letters from Melbourne, Aunt Kezia! Mother is quite well and strong—quite brown and well and strong!" "I am glad to hear it, but surely you could have read them after breakfast." The gaiety was quenched momentarily by the sheer force of the surprise that invaded them. Silence reigned, while their thoughts worked rapidly over the waiting of the last months—the impatient suspense of the last days, as the time drew near the date on which they had calculated they could get their first Australian mail. Nell eyed Miss Kezia with a hint of soberness in her face. Tucking Denis into his coat a little later, she said, "I pity her." "Who? Our austere relative?" She nodded; then tapped her brow and her left side suggestively. "There must be something wanting somewhere." "A good deal," laughed he, amused. On the door-step he paused, turned, and made a comical grimace. "Figures on a day like this! Don’t start pitying me, too, or I’ll never go!" He was out of the gate. At lunch time he observed to Nell:— "Suppose I get the sack?" "I could almost wish it, twin." He laughed. "Never did man be burdened with such a degenerate twin! Well, old Tellbridge wants to speak to me this afternoon! In the manager’s room, Nell!" "A rise!" she ejaculated.