father, then on his brother-in-law, painted about the town,
painted, made cynical remarks about the Polcastrians, painted, made
blasphemous remarks about the bishop, the dean and all the canons,
painted, and refused to leave his brother-in-law's house. He was a
scandal, of course; he was fat, untidy, wore a blue tam-o'-shanter when
he was "out," and sometimes went down Orange Street in carpet slippers.

He was a scandal, but what are you to do if a relative is obstinate and
refuses to go? At least make him shave, say the wives of the canons. But
no one had ever made Samuel Trefusis do anything that he did not want to
do. He was sometimes not shaved for three whole days and nights. At any
rate, there he is. It is of no use saying that he does not exist, as
many of the Close ladies try to do. And at least he does not paint
strange women; he prefers flowers and cows and the Polchester woods,
although anything less like cows, flowers and woods, Mrs. Sampson, wife
of the Dean, who once had a water-colour in the Academy, says she has
never seen. Samuel Trefusis is a failure, and, what is truly awful, he
does not mind; nobody buys his pictures and he does not care; and, worst
taste of all, he laughs at his relations, although he lives on them.
Nothing further need be said.

To Helen, Mary and Jeremy he had always been a fascinating object,
although they realised, with that sharp worldly wisdom to be found in
all infants of tender years, that he was a failure, a dirty man, and
disliked children. He very rarely spoke to them; was once quite wildly
enraged when Mary was discovered licking his paints. (It was the paints
he seemed anxious about, not in the least the poor little thing's
health, as his sister Amy said), and had publicly been heard to say that
his brother-in-law had only got the children he deserved.

Nevertheless Jeremy had always been interested in him. He liked his fat
round shape, his rough, untidy grey hair, his scarlet slippers, his blue
tam-o'-shanter, the smudges of paint sometimes to be discovered on his
cheeks, and the jingling noises he made in his pocket with his money. He
was certainly more fun than Aunt Amy.

There, then, they all were with their presents and their birthday faces.

"Shall I undo them for you, darling?" of course said Aunt Amy. Jeremy
shook his head (he did not say what he thought of her) and continued to
tug at the string. He was given a large pair of scissors. He received
(from Fat