ld be a Grenadier!"

The old lady laughed heartily at the haughty air with which he drew
himself up and threw forward his chest as he spoke.

"What a nice parrot you have sent me! but I can't make out what it is he
says."

"He says, 'Don't you wish you may get it?' aunt."

"Ah! so it is; and he means luncheon, I 'm sure, which is just coming on
the table. I hope you are both very hungry?"

"I ought to be, aunt. It's a long drive from the Causeway here.--Hold
your tongue, you dog," whispered he to Tony; "say nothing about the
three breakfasts on the road, or I shall be disgraced."

"And how is your mother, Mr. Tony? I hope she has good health. Give me
your arm to the dining-room; Pickle will take care of himself. This is a
sickly season. The poor dear Commodore fell ill! and though the weather
is so severe, woodcocks very scarce,--there's a step here,--and all so
frightened for fear of the scarlatina that they run away; and I really
wanted you here to introduce you to--who was it?--not Mrs. Craycroft,
was it? Tell Mrs. Trafford luncheon is ready, Groves, and say Mr. Butler
is here. She doesn't know you, Pickle. Maybe you don't like to be called
Pickle now?"

"Of course I do, aunt; it reminds me of long ago," said he, with an air
of emotion.

"By the way, it was George, and not you, I used to call Pickle,--poor
George, that went to Bombay."

"Ah, yes; he was India Pickle, aunt, and you used to call me
Piccalilli!"

"Perhaps I did, but I forget. Here, take the head of the table; Mr.
Tony, sit by me. Oh dear! what a small party! This day last week we
were twenty-seven! Oh, he 'll not find Alice, for I left her in my
flower-garden; I 'll go for her myself."

"Make yourself at home, Tony," said Skeffy, as soon as the old Lady
left the room. "Believe me, it is with no common pleasure that I see you
under my roof."

"I was going to play parrot, and say, 'Don't you wish you may?'"
muttered Tony, dryly.

"Unbeliever, that will not credit the mutton on his plate, nor the
sherry in his glass! Hush! here they are."

Alice sailed proudly into the room, gave her hand to Tony with a
pretended air of condescension, but a real cordiality, and said, "You
're a good boy, after all; and Bella sends you all manner of kind
forgivenesses."

"My nephew Darner, Alice," said Mrs. Maxwell, never very formal in her
presentations of those she regarded as little more than children. "I
suppose he 'll not mind being called Pickle b