a sweet-tempud gell."

Mrs. Handsomebody leaned over him, and gobbled and threatened. The Seraph
preserved a remarkable calm, considering that he was the storm centre. He
even raised his small forefinger before his face and looked at it
thoughtfully. His speculative gaze travelled from it to Mrs. Handsomebody's
chin. I perceived then that he was comparing warts!

_Chapter IV: A Merry Interlude_

I

My brothers and I were hanging over the gate that barred our way to the
outer world, and singing, as loudly as we could, considering the pressure
of the top bar on our young stomachs. We sang to keep warm, for Mrs.
Handsomebody had decreed that no reefers were to be worn till the first of
December. So, though November was raw, she maintained her discipline and
refused to mollycoddle us.

It was the fifth, and Angel chanted in that flute-like treble of his, that
made passersby turn and smile at him:

"Remember, remember the fifth of November,
Gunpowder, treason and plot--"

Then The Seraph added his little pipe:

"I see no weason why gunpowder tweason
Should ever be forgot."

Then we shouted it all together.

Our neighbour, Mr. Mortimer Pegg, who had never forgiven us for our share
in the treasure hunt, came out of his house at that moment, and drew up
before us.

"This noise, you know," he said, in his precise way, "is affecting my
wife's health deleteriously. She has gone to bed with a migraine."

"Why don't you put him out," suggested The Seraph.

Mr. Pegg eyed him severely, yet I thought I perceived a twinkle in his eye.

"It's Guy Fawkes day," I explained. "You see, it must never be forgot."

"It is a mistake in these enlightened days to keep up such old
animosities," replied our neighbour. "For all you know I might be his
direct descendant. If you must celebrate his undoing, better take these
three sixpences and make yourselves ill on lemon fizz, or pink
marshmallows, or vile licorice cigars."

He placed a coin in each outstretched hand, and, without waiting for
thanks, strode briskly down the street. We gazed after him, knocked
speechless by this great beaker of bounty that had rolled in upon the flat
expanse of our afternoon. Mr. Pegg, in his shiny top hat and neat Prince
Albert moved away in the ruddy November sunlight as in a halo of opulence.
Never before had we appreciated the princely turn of his toes beneath their
drab spats, the flash of his twirled walking-stick. We reso