she would mend it, but it would take her a long time. Grandmamma,"
she went on, suddenly changing the subject, "what does a 'charge' mean,
'a great charge?'"

"Yes," said Marmaduke, who heard what she said, "'a _very_ great
charge.'"

Grandpapa's eyes grew brighter.

"Can they be speaking of a field of battle?" he said quickly. But Duke
turned his large wistful blue eyes on him before Grandmamma had time to
answer.

"No, sir," he said, in his slow earnest way, "it wasn't about battles;
it was about _us_."

"She said _us_ was that thing," added Pamela.

"Who said so?" inquired Grandmamma, and her voice was perhaps a little,
a very little, sharp.

"Nurse said it," said Pamela. "It was when us had felled down, and the
old woman was at the door of her house, and she asked if us was hurt,
and Nurse was vexed, and then she said that."

"What old woman?" asked Grandmamma again.

"Her that makes the cakes," said Duke.

"Oh, Barbara Twiss!" said the old lady in a tone of relief. "Now, my
dear children, kiss Grandpapa and kiss me, and say good-night. I will
explain to you when you are bigger what Nurse meant. God bless you and
give you a nice sleep till to-morrow morning!"

The two little creatures obeyed at once. No "oh, _mayn't_ we stay ten
minutes"'s, "just _five_ minutes then, oh please"'s--so coaxingly urged,
so hard to refuse--of the little ones of our day! No, Marmaduke and
Pamela said their "good-nights" in dutiful fashion, stopping a moment at
the door before leaving the room, there to execute the military salute
and the miniature curtsey, and went off to bed, their curiosity still
unsatisfied, as children's curiosity often had to remain in those times
when "wait till you are big and then you will be told" was the regular
reply to questions it was not easy or desirable to answer otherwise.

There was a moment's silence when they had left the room. Grandpapa's
face was once more hidden in his newspaper; Grandmamma had taken up her
netting again, but it did not go on very vigorously.

"I must warn Nurse," she said at last. "She means no harm, but she must
be careful what she says before the children. She forgets how big they
are growing, and how they notice all they hear."

"It was no great harm, after all," said Grandpapa, more than half, to
tell the truth, immersed in his paper.

"Not as said to a discreet person like Barbara," replied Grandmamma.
"But still--they have the right to all we can give them