“And if they grumble we’ll tell them that’s ’cos they don’t know how happy they are. And we’ll tell them how good we used to be when—I say, don’t you miss your train, or I shall get into a row.” “Great Scott! I’d forgotten all about that train, Veronica,” I admitted. “Better run,” suggested Veronica. It sounded good advice. “Keep on thinking about that book,” shouted Veronica. “Make a note of things as they occur to you,” I shouted back. “What shall we call it?” Veronica screamed. “‘Why the Man in the Moon looks sat upon,’” I shrieked. When I turned again she was sitting on the top rail of the stile conducting an imaginary orchestra with one of her own shoes. The six-fifteen was fortunately twenty minutes late. * * * * * I thought it best to tell Ethelbertha the truth; that things had gone wrong with the kitchen stove. “Let me know the worst,” she said. “Is Veronica hurt?” “The worst,” I said, “is that I shall have to pay for a new range. Why, when anything goes amiss, poor Veronica should be assumed as a matter of course to be in it, appears to me unjust.” “You are sure she’s all right?” persisted Ethelbertha. “Honest Injun—confound those children and their slang—I mean positively,” I answered. The Little Mother looked relieved. I told her all the trouble we had had in connection with the cow. Her sympathies were chiefly with the cow. I told her I had hopes of Robina’s developing into a sensible woman. We talked quite a deal about Robina. We agreed that between us we had accomplished something rather clever. “I must get back as soon as I can,” I said. “I don’t want young Bute getting wrong ideas into his head.” “Who is young Bute?” she asked. “The architect,” I explained. “I thought he was an old man,” said Ethelbertha. “Old Spreight is old enough,” I said. “Young Bute is one of his young men; but he understands his work, and seems intelligent.” “What’s he like?” she asked. “Personally, an exceedingly nice young fellow. There’s a good deal of sense in him. I like a boy who listens.” “Good-looking?” she asked. “Not objectionably so,” I replied. “A pleasant face—particularly when he smiles.” “Is he married?” she asked. “Really, it did not occur to me to ask him,” I admitted. “How curious you women are! No, I don’t think so. I should say not.” “Why don’t you think so?” she demanded. “Oh, I don’t know. He doesn’t give you the idea of a married man. You’ll like him. Seems so fond of his sister.” “Shall we be seeing much of him?” she asked. “A goodish deal,” I answered. “I expect he will be going down on Monday. Very annoying, this stove business.” “What is the use of his being there without you?” Ethelbertha wanted to know. “Oh, he’ll potter round,” I suggested, “and take measurements. Dick will be about to explain things to him. Or, if he isn’t, there’s Robina—awkward thing is, Robina seems to have taken a dislike to him.”