Robina told him that she had done talking. She gave him her reasons for having done talking. If talking to him would be of any use she would often have felt it her duty to talk to him, not only with regard to his stupidity and selfishness and general aggravatingness, but with reference to his character as a whole. Her excuse for not talking to him was the crushing conviction of the hopelessness of ever effecting any improvement in him. Were it otherwise— “Seriously speaking,” said Dick, now escaped from his corner, “something, I take it, has gone wrong with the stove, and you want a sort of general smith.” He opened the kitchen door and looked in. “Great Scott!” he said. “What was it—an earthquake?” I looked in over his shoulder. “But it could not have been an earthquake,” I said. “We should have felt it.” “It is not an earthquake,” explained Robina. “It is your youngest daughter’s notion of making herself useful.” Robina spoke severely. I felt for the moment as if I had done it all myself. I had an uncle who used to talk like that. “Your aunt,” he would say, regarding me with a reproachful eye, “your aunt can be, when she likes, the most trying woman to live with I have ever known.” It would depress me for days. I would wonder whether I ought to speak to her about it, or whether I should be doing only harm. “But how did she do it?” I demanded. “It is impossible that a mere child—where is the child?” The parlour contained but Robina. I hurried to the door; Dick was already half across the field. Veronica I could not see. “We are making haste,” Dick shouted back, “in case it is early-closing day.” “I want Veronica!” I shouted. “What?” shouted Dick. “Veronica!” I shouted with my hands to my mouth. “Yes!” shouted Dick. “She’s on ahead.” It was useless screaming any more. He was now climbing the stile. “They always take each other’s part, those two,” sighed Robina. “Yes, and you are just as bad,” I told her; “if he doesn’t, you do. And then if it’s you they take your part. And you take his part. And he takes both your parts. And between you all I am just getting tired of bringing any of you up.” (Which is the truth.) “How did this thing happen?” “I had got everything finished,” answered Robina. “The duck was in the oven with the pie; the peas and potatoes were boiling nicely. I was feeling hot, and I thought I could trust Veronica to watch the things for awhile. She promised not to play King Alfred.” “What’s that?” I asked.