unes sharpe adversite,
The worst kind of infortune is this,
A man that hath been in prosperite
And it remember, whan it passed is!"
--CHAUCER.

"WHERE are you going, Uncle Christopher?" asks Dulce, as Sir Christopher
enters the small drawing-room, booted and spurred for a long journey.

Portia, in the distance, bending over an easel; Julia is forming some
miraculous flower, that never yet was seen by land or sea, on a coarse
towel, with some crewel wools; the Boodie is lying on her little fat
stomach, drawing diligently with a slate and pencil; Dulce, charmingly
idle, is leaning back in a lounging chair, doing nothing.

"To Warminster," says Sir Christopher "What shall I bring you girls from
that sleepy little town?"

"Something sweet," says Dulce, going up to him, and laying her soft arms
lovingly round his neck.

"Like yourself," says Sir Christopher.

"Now that is sarcasm," says Miss Dulce, patting his fresh old cheek very
fondly. "I meant chocolates, or burnt almonds, or even everton toffy, if
all things fail."

"And what shall I bring the others?" asks Sir Christopher, laughing;
"you have a sweet tooth, you naughty child, perhaps they haven't."

"_I_ have," says Portia, turning round on her seat. "Bring us as much as
ever you can."

"Burnt almonds are my chief delight," murmurs Julia, affectedly and
somewhat absently, being sick with grief, because she cannot reconcile
it to her conscience that the stem of an arum lily should be peacock
blue.

"Bring some crackers," says the Boodie, suddenly warming into life, and
so far condescending to notice Sir Christopher as to roll round her
portly person until she lies prone upon her back. From this dignified
position she eyes Sir Christopher magisterially. "_Real_ crackers,
mind," she says severely, "that will say c-r-r-rack, and show fire!
those last you brought"--contemptuously--"were a humbug!"

"Elizabeth!" exclaims her mother in a would-be shocked tone (the Boodie
rejoices in that lengthy name), "what _are_ you saying?"

"The truth," says the Boodie, unflinchingly; "the last he brought were a
reg'lar swindle--ask Jacky; why they wouldn't go off even if you
_stamped_ on 'em."

She so plainly--by the severity of her glance--conveys to every one the
impression that she believes Sir Christopher on that last unfortunate
occasion had purposely bought for them crackers beneath notice, that the