oman spoke. His name was
Ivan. Many a time did I wish it had been William or Matthew, and once,
I remember, I dreamt a tantalizing dream of discovering that it was
Oliver, and of digging up the middle of the O, and effecting a round
bed of unrivalled brilliancy, with a white rose for the centre-piece
and crown. Once in the year, however, I had my revenge. In spring my
lilies of the valley were the finest to be seen. We had a custom that
all through the flower season a bouquet was laid by my mother's plate
before she came down to breakfast, and very proud we were when they
came from our own gardens. There were no horticultural wonders in
these nosegays, but in my short season of triumph, the size and
fragrance of my flowers never failed to excite admiration; and many
grown-up people besides my mother were grateful for bouquets from my
narrow bed. Credit in the matter I deserved none, for Ivan's lilies
took care of themselves.

"Having learnt the names of the little Russians, we had no difficulty
in discovering to which of them the respective letter beds had
belonged; and one of our amusements was that each should endeavour to
carry out what (so far as we could learn) had been the habits and
customs of the little Russian to whose garden he had succeeded. Then
we had a whole class of partisan games which gave us wonderful
entertainment. Sometimes we pretended to be Scottish chieftains, or
feudal barons of England, or chiefs of savage tribes. Our gardens
were always the lands we had inherited or conquered, and we called
ourselves by the names of the little Russians. When we were Highland
chiefs, I remember, we put Mac indiscriminately before all the names;
in some cases with a comical, and in others with a very satisfactory
effect. As chief of the MacIvans I felt justly proud of my title, but
a brother who represented the MacElizabeths was less fortunate. In the
sham battles our pet animals (we each had one) did duty for retainers,
much to their bewilderment. The dogs, indeed, would caper about, and
bark round the opposing parties in a way that was at least
inspiriting; but my Sandy Tom brandished his tail and took flying
leaps upon no principle whatever; and as to Fatima's tortoise, it
never budged from the beginning of the conflict to the end. Once,
indeed, by strewing dandelion heads in the direction of the enemy's
ground she induced him to advance, and at the cry of 'Forward,
MacPeters!' he put forth a lazy leg, and wi