muffin--"shewanimbagagen?"

"Rather," I cried, joyously. "I managed the whole thing. And we're to be
there at seven to see him come."

We raced to the kitchen and told Mary Ellen, who was promptly impressed,
but The Seraph after a close scrutiny of us, said bitterly--

"There's cwumbs on your faces!"

"Cwumbs on your own face, old sillybilly!" mocked Angel, "and what's more,
they're sugar cwumbs!"

III

As fate would have it, Mrs. Handsomebody decreed that I should not leave
the house on Saturday morning, and she, having a spell of sciatica did not
go to market, as usual; so there I was, unable to meet Harry on the
cathedral steps, as I had promised. It simply meant that Angel must
undertake the mission, while I kicked my heels in the schoolroom.

He undertook it with a careless alacrity that was very irritating to one
who longed to finish, in his own fashion, an undertaking that had, so far,
been carried on with masterly diplomacy.

The Seraph went with Angel, and it seemed a long hour indeed till I heard
the longed-for footsteps hurrying up the stairs. The door was thrown open,
and they burst in rosy and wind-blown.

"It's all right," announced Angel briskly. "He'll be there sharp at seven,
and he's jolly glad that we're to be there too!"

"And did you tell him?" I asked rather plaintively, "that I had done the
whole thing?"

"Course I did."

"What did he say when you told him he was to come home?"

"He slapped his leg--" Angel gave his own leg a vigorous slap in
illustration--"and said--'once aboard the lugger, and the girl is mine!'"

It was a fascinating and cryptic utterance. We all tried it on varying
notes of exultation. It put zest into what otherwise would have been a
dragging day. By tea-time our legs were sore with whacking.

Came the hour at last. We set out holding each other by moist clean hands,
an admonishing Mrs. Handsomebody on the doorsill.

Our hearts were high with excitement when we were shown ceremoniously into
the Bishop's library, where he and Margery were sitting in the dancing
firelight. We loved the dark-panelled room where we were always made so
happy. At Mrs. Handsomebody's we could never do anything right, mugs of
milk had a spiteful way of tilting over on the table-cloth without ever
having been touched, but we could handle the things in the Chinese cabinet
here or play carpet ball on the rug in the most seemly fashion.

No one could tell stories like the Bishop, an