hearth-rug, and am shading my face with a pair of cold pink hands, from
the clear, quick blaze. "What _am_ I to wear?" I say, gloomily. "None of
my frocks are ironed, and there is no time now. I shall look as if I
came out of the dirty clothes-basket! Barbara, dear, will you lend me
your blue sash? Last time I wore mine the Brat upset the gum-bottle over
my ends."

"Let us each have the melancholy pleasure of contributing something
toward the decking of our victim," says Algy, with a grin; "have my
mess-jacket!"

"Have as many beads as you can about you," puts in Bobby. "Begums always
have plenty of beads."

A little pause, while the shifting flame-light makes small pictures of
us on the deep-bodied teapot's sides, and throws shadowy profiles of us
on the wall.

"Mother said, too, that I was to try and not say any of my unlucky
things!" I remark, presently.

"Do not tell him," says Bobby, ill-naturedly, "as you told poor Captain
Saunders the other day, that 'they always put the fool of the family
into the army.'"

"I did not say so of myself," cry I, angrily. "I only told it him as a
quotation."

"Abstain from quotations, then," retorts Bobby, dryly; "for you know in
conversation one does not see the inverted commas."

"What _shall_ I talk about?" say I, dropping my shielding hand into my
lap, and letting the full fire-warmth blaze on eyes, nose, and cheeks.
"Barbara, what _did_ you talk about?"

"Whatever I talked about," replies Barbara, gayly, "they clearly were
not successful topics, so I will not reveal what they were."

Barbara is standing by the tea-table, thin and willowy, a tea-caddy in
one hand, and a spoon in the other, ladling tea into the deep-bodied
pot--a spoonful for each person and one for the pot.

"I will draw you up a list of subjects to be avoided," says Algy,
drawing his chair to the table, and pulling a pencil out of his
waistcoat-pocket. "Here, Tou Tou, tear a leaf out of your
copy-book--imprimis, _old age_."

"You are wrong there," cry I, triumphantly, "_quite_ wrong; he is rather
fond of talking of his age, harps upon it a good deal. He said to-day
that he was an _old wreck_!"

"Of course he meant you to contradict him!" says Bobby, cackling, "and,
from the little I know of you, I am morally certain that you did
not--_did_ you, now?"

"Well, no!" reply I, rather crestfallen; "I certainly did not. I would,
though, in a minute, if I had thought that he wanted it."

"I wish,"