I will have no
Latin or Greek touched these holidays."

"You know," said Norman, "if I don't sap, I shall have no chance of
keeping up."

"You'll keep nowhere if you don't rest."

"It is only Euripides, and I can't do anything else," said Norman
languidly.

"Very likely, I don't care. You have to get well first of all, and the
Greek will take care of itself. Go up to Margaret. I put you in her
keeping, while I am gone to Whitford. After that, I dare say
Richard will be very glad to have a holiday, and let you drive me to
Abbotstoke."

Norman rose, and wearily walked upstairs, while his sister lingered
to excuse herself. "Papa, I did not think Euripides would hurt him--he
knows it all so well, and he said he could not read anything else."

"Just so, Ethel. Poor fellow, he has not spirits or energy for anything:
his mind was forced into those classicalities when it wanted rest, and
now it has not spring enough to turn back again."

"Do you think him so very ill?"

"Not exactly, but there's low fever hanging about him, and we must look
after him well, and I hope we may get him right. I have told Margaret
about him; I can't stop any longer now."

Norman found the baby in his sister's room, and this was just what
suited him. The Daisy showed a marked preference for her brothers; and
to find her so merry and good with him, pleased and flattered him far
more than his victory at school. He carried her about, danced her,
whistled to her, and made her admire her pretty blue eyes in the glass
more successfully, till nurse carried her off. But perhaps he had been
sent up rather too soon, for as he sat in the great chair by the fire,
he was teased by the constant coming and going, all the petty cares of
a large household transacted by Margaret--orders to butcher and
cook--Harry racing in to ask to take Tom to the river--Tom, who was to
go when his lesson was done, coming perpetually to try to repeat the
same unhappy bit of 'As in Proesenti', each time in a worse whine.

"How can you bear it, Margaret?" said Norman, as she finally dismissed
Tom, and laid down her account-book, taking up some delicate fancy work.
"Mercy, here's another," as enter a message about lamp oil, in the midst
of which Mary burst in to beg Margaret to get Miss Winter to let her go
to the river with Harry and Tom.

"No, indeed, Mary, I could not think of such a thing. You had better go
back to your lessons, and don't be silly," as she looked much