to-day?"

"Yes, I am," said Clifford, taking up the book he had brought with him.
"As long as I can."

"Oh."

"How long can I?"

"Till dinner, or till anyone turns up that I want to talk to."

"Right-o! But you can send me into another room. I needn't go home, need
I?"

She laughed.

"Oh, you silly boy! Of course not."

"I say, have you seen my report?" he asked gravely.

"Some of it. Your mother read out little bits."

"Which little bits?" he asked rather anxiously.

"Oh, the worst of course!" said Bertha. "The purple patches! You're a
credit to the family, I don't think!"

"She asked me who was my nicest little friend at school," said Clifford.

"And what did you say?"

"I told her about Pickering. I say, Bertha, ... can I bring Pickering
here?"

"Of course you can."

"May I give him a regular sort of invitation from you, then?"

"Yes, rather. Tell him that I and Percy ask him to come and live here
from to-morrow morning for the rest of his natural life. Or, if that
doesn't seem cordial enough, we'll adopt him as our only son."

"Oh no! I think that's too much."

"Is it? Well, make it from to-morrow afternoon. Or perhaps we'd better
not be effusive; it wouldn't look well. So, instead of that, I'll invite
him to go to the Zoological Gardens on Sunday fortnight for an hour, and
you and he can have buns and tea at your own expense there. That's not
too hospitable and gushing, is it?"

He laughed.

"You do look smart, Bertha!" he remarked. "Your shoes are always so
frightfully right. I say, can't you tell mother to wear the same sort of
shoes? And tell her to look narrower, and not have such high collars."

"My dear boy, your mother dresses beautifully," said Bertha. "What do
you want her to look like?"

"I should like her to look like some of those little cards on cigarette
boxes, or like a picture post-card, if you want to know," he admitted
candidly.

"That's absurd, Cliff."

"But, Bertha, some of the fellows' mothers do."

"Remember your mother is _Percy's_ mother, too."

"Pickering's mother doesn't look much older than you," he replied.

"Oh--what a horrid woman!"

He smiled. "Why do you call her a horrid woman? For not looking older
than you?"

"Oh! tell her to mind her own business, and not go interfering with me.
I shall look whatever age I choose without consulting her!" Bertha
pretended to pout and be offended, and went on reading for a little
while.

He took another