d a flattering tale,'" said Miles, and kissed his aunt ... but
to himself he said: "I've shut their mouths for a day or two anyway."

CHAPTER XXII

THE ENCAMPMENT

It was the morning of the first Monday in June, and Tony had wandered
out into the garden all by himself. Monday mornings were very busy, and
once Clipture was over Jan and Meg became socially useless to any
self-respecting boy.

There was all the washing to sort and divide into two large heaps: what
might be sent to Mrs. Chitt in the village, and what might be kept for
the ministrations of one Mrs. Mumford, who came every Monday to Wren's
End. And this division was never arrived at without a good deal of
argument between Jan and Meg.

If Jan had had her way, Mrs. Mumford's heap would have been very small
indeed, and would have consisted chiefly of socks and handkerchiefs. If
Meg had had hers, nothing at all would have gone to Mrs. Chitt. Usually,
too, Hannah was called in as final arbitrator, and she generally sided
with Meg. Little Fay took the greatest interest in the whole ceremony,
chattered continually, and industriously mixed up the heaps when no one
was looking.

At such times Tony was of the opinion that there were far too many women
in the world. On this particular morning, too, he felt injured because
of something that had happened at breakfast.

It was always a joy to Meg and Jan that whatever poor Fay might have
left undone in the matter of disciplining her children, she had at least
taught them to eat nicely. Little Fay's management of a spoon was a joy
to watch. The dimpled baby hand was so deft, the turn of the plump wrist
so sure and purposeful. She never spilled or slopped her food about. Its
journey from bowl to little red mouth was calculated and assured. Both
children had a horror of anything sticky, and would refuse jam unless it
was "well covelled in a sangwidge."

That very morning Jan and Meg exchanged congratulatory glances over
their well-behaved charges, sitting side by side.

Then, all at once, with a swift, sure movement, little Fay stretched up
and deposited a spoonful of exceedingly hot porridge exactly on the top
of her brother's head, with a smart tap.

Tony's hair was always short, and had been cut on Saturday, and the hot
mixture ran down into his eyes, which filled him with rage.

He tried to get out of his high chair, exclaiming angrily, "Let me get
at her to box her!"

Jan held him down with one ha