y took the
form of punches in the short ribs, or wet paper pellets aimed at an
unoffending nose, The Seraph was frequently the recipient of such
pleasantries. He bore them with good humour and stoicism.

"I'll bet anything," whispered Angel, over The Seraph's curls, "that it's a
telegram from father saying that he's coming to fetch us! Wouldn't that be
jolly? And she's waxy about it too--see how white she's gone!"

Mrs. Handsomebody rose.

"Boys," she said, in her most frigid manner, "owing to news of a sudden
bereavement, I shall not be able to continue your lessons today--nor
tomorrow. You will, I hope, make the most of the time intervening. You were
in a shocking state of unpreparedness both in History and Geography this
morning. Keep your little brother out of mischief, and _remember_," raising
her long forefinger, "you are not, under any consideration, to leave the
premises during my absence. As I have a great responsibility on your
account, I wish to be certain that you are not endangering yourselves in
the street. When I return we shall undertake some long walks."

Picking up the telegram from the floor where it had fallen, Mrs.
Handsomebody slowly left the room, and closed the door behind her.

"She's always jawing about her responsibility," muttered Angel resentfully.
"Why don't she let us run about like other boys 'stead of mewing us up like
a parcel of girls? I'll be shot if I stand it!"

"What _are_ the Channel Islands anyhow?" I asked to change the subject.
"I'd just got to Jersey, Guernsey, when I got stuck."

"Jersey, Guernsey, Sweater, Sock and Darn," replied my elder, emphasizing
the last named.

"_Was_ the telegram from father?" interrupted The Seraph. "Is he comin'
home?"

"No, silly," replied Angel. "Some one belonging to Mrs. Handsomebody is
dead. She's goin' to the funeral, I s'pose. Whoever can it be, John? Didn't
know _she_ had any people."

"A whole day away," I mused, "it has never happened before."

I looked at Angel, and Angel looked at me--such looks as might be exchanged
by lion cubs in captivity. We remembered our old home with its stretch of
green lawn, the dogs, the stable with the sharp sweet smell of hay, and the
pigeons, sliding and "rooketty-cooing" on the roof. Here, the windows of
our schoolroom looked out on a planked back yard, and our daily walks with
Mrs. Handsomebody were dreary outings indeed.

Of a sudden Angel threw his Geography into the air. His brown eyes we