y-wall, had
been gone through and allotted long ago; and in these, sooner or later,
each one of us got a chance to figure in some satisfactory and brightly
coloured situation. Few of the other pictures about the house afforded
equal facilities. They were generally wanting in figures, and even when
these were present they lacked dramatic interest. In this picture that
I have to speak about, although the characters had a stupid way of not
doing anything, and apparently not wanting to do anything, there was at
least a sufficiency of them; so in due course they were allotted, too.

In itself the picture, which--in its ebony and tortoise-shell
frame--hung in a corner of the dining-room, had hitherto possessed no
special interest for us, and would probably never have been dealt with
at all but for a revolt of the girls against a succession of books on
sport, in which the illustrator seemed to have forgotten that there were
such things as women in the world. Selina accordingly made for it one
rainy morning, and announced that she was the lady seated in the centre,
whose gown of rich, flowered brocade fell in such straight, severe lines
to her feet, whose cloak of dark blue was held by a jewelled clasp, and
whose long, fair hair was crowned with a diadem of gold and pearl.
Well, we had no objection to that; it seemed fair enough, especially
to Edward, who promptly proceeded to "grab" the armour-man who stood
leaning on his shield at the lady's right hand. A dainty and delicate
armour-man this! And I confess, though I knew it was all right and fair
and orderly, I felt a slight pang when he passed out of my reach
into Edward's possession. His armour was just the sort I wanted
myself--scalloped and fluted and shimmering and spotless; and, though
he was but a boy by his beardless face and golden hair, the shattered
spear-shaft in his grasp proclaimed him a genuine fighter and fresh from
some such agreeable work. Yes, I grudged Edward the armour-man, and when
he said I could have the fellow on the other side, I hung back and said
I'd think about it.

This fellow had no armour nor weapons, but wore a plain jerkin with a
leather pouch--a mere civilian--and with one hand he pointed to a wound
in his thigh. I didn't care about him, and when Harold eagerly put in
his claim I gave way and let him have the man. The cause of Harold's
anxiety only came out later. It was the wound he coveted, it seemed. He
wanted to have a big, sore wound of