, and what lessons he learnt; but on this occasion the entry
assumed such large proportions that it spread right over the next day,
and was wandering into "Friday," when Bobbie suddenly remembered the
tea-party, and that room must certainly be left for _that_!

Jerry, looking over his shoulder, when he had finished, read the
following, adorned with many blots and smudges:--

"Had sutch a day. 2 lite gentlemen who turnered into Unkels ('You
mean, "turned _out_ to be uncles,"' corrected Jerry) came And gave
me 1 shiling for the brown ginny-pig I acepted with thanks they
are goin to tak us Jerry and me to the pantermine and tea at Mrs.
Funnels on Fryday (not the Unkels but nurs).

"P.S.--Plenty mor to say but no rume. cant put the puding to-day."

CHAPTER III.

One of Bobbie's and Jerry's greatest treats was to have tea at the
cottage on the edge of the park, where old Mrs. Funnel presided over a
table covered with cakes and home-made delicacies.

She always liked them to appear in good time; so punctually at four
o'clock on Friday, the invited tea-party--consisting of "Old Nurse,"
in a crackling black silk, Jerry in spotless frilled cotton, and
Bobbie in a white sailor's suit, bristling with starch and pearl
buttons--made their way through the little garden of the Funnels'
house, and rapped importantly on the door with the end of nurse's
umbrella.

Mrs. Funnel, who had been awaiting the summons, welcomed them
heartily; and Bobbie was relieved to see--on taking a cursory glance
at the table--that besides the usual array of good things, there was a
covered dish, which meant, as he knew by experience--muffins.

Jeptha, in his Sunday coat, with a red geranium in his button-hole,
looked cheerfully conscious of his own splendour; and his wife's
little wrinkled face beamed with kindness and hospitality.

"Jim can't get away yet, I'm sorry to say," she said, "but he'll be in
afterwards. Sit down, all of you, please. Draw up to the table,
ma'am!"

Bobbie deposited his dog-skin gloves carefully in his hat, and seated
himself solemnly, trying to keep his eyes off the plum cake, for the
sake of good manners.

"This bread's a bit heavy, mother!" remarked Jeptha, grappling with a
large loaf in the centre of the table.

"I don't know how that can be," replied Mrs. Funnel cheerfully. "It
rose enough."

"Then it must ha' sat down again!" said Jeptha. "It's that worritting
oven, ma'am"--turning to nurse; "I a