wreaths, and a
power of rings, cameos, brooches, chains, bangles, and other nameless
gimcracks; and ribbons of every breadth and colour of the rainbow
flaming on her person. Miss Amory appeared meek in dove-colour, like a
vestal virgin--while Master Francis was in the costume, then prevalent,
of Rob Roy Macgregor, a celebrated Highland outlaw. The Baronet was not
more animated than ordinarily--there was a happy vacuity about him which
enabled him to face a dinner, a death, a church, a marriage, with the
same indifferent ease.

A pew for the Clavering servants was filled by these domestics, and the
enraptured congregation saw the gentlemen from London with "vlower on
their heeds," and the miraculous coachman with his silver wig, take
their places in that pew so soon as his horses were put up at the
Clavering Arms.

In the course of the service, Master Francis began to make such a
yelling in the pew, that Frederic, the tallest of the footmen, was
beckoned by his master, and rose and went and carried out Master
Francis, who roared and beat him on the head, so that the powder flew
round about, like clouds of incense. Nor was he pacified until placed on
the box of the carriage, where he played at horses with John's whip.

"You see the little beggar's never been to church before, Miss Bell,"
the Baronet drawled out to a young lady who was visiting him; "no wonder
he should make a row: I don't go in town neither, but I think it's right
in the country to give a good example--and that sort of thing."

Miss Bell laughed and said, "The little boy had not given a particularly
good example."

"Gad, I don't know, and that sort of thing," said the Baronet. "It
ain't so bad neither. Whenever he wants a thing, Frank always cwies, and
whenever he cwies he gets it."

Here the child in question began to howl for a dish of sweetmeats on the
luncheon-table, and making a lunge across the table-cloth, upset a glass
of wine over the best waistcoat of one of the guests present, Mr. Arthur
Pendennis, who was greatly annoyed at being made to look foolish, and at
having his spotless cambric shirt front blotched with wine.

"We do spoil him so," said Lady Clavering to Mrs. Pendennis, finally
gazing at the cherub, whose hands and face were now frothed over
with the species of lather which is inserted in the confection called
meringues a la creme.

"It is very wrong," said Mrs. Pendennis, as if she had never done such a
thing herself as spo