s, while she scratched calmly on, out of
hearing--"your man's just like you, idle dog! (you won't raise Phil Raby
in a trice.) Why, if he was rich enough to drive his own taxed cart,
he'd sooner jolt till his bones ached than get down to grease his
wheels." Then a short silence, and other feet came up. "Well, Jemmy man,
and what do you want?"

A small voice, in a boy's falsetto tone answered, "Please, Mr. Swan,
I've brought the paper."

"Have you now, and what's the news, Jemmy, do you know?"

"Yes--coals are riz again."

"You don't say so! that's a thing to make a man thoughtful; and what
else, Jemmy?"

"Why, the Governor-general's come home from India."

"Only think o' that! Well, he may come and welcome, for aught I care,
Jemmy. Let the cook give warning or keep her place, it's all one to the
flies in the kitchen window."

The new-comer withdrew, and Swan was presently heard to throw down his
rake and go off to argue with his subordinate, whom he very soon
preceded into the back garden behind the house, to the great joy of the
party in Parliament, who, still sitting perfectly quiet, began to talk
in low tones, Emily inquiring what they really hoped to effect by
concealing themselves.

"Why, George Crayshaw," said Cray (that being his manner of designating
his brother when he was not pleased with him)--"George Crayshaw is only
come down here for one day, and Mr. Brandon had fully arranged that I
should go to Mr. Tikey till we two return to Harrow, and now he's going
to Germany, and wants me to start with him this very day--says the dry
continental air may do me good. Why, I am perfectly well--perfectly."

"So it appears," said Emily.

"Look how he's grown, then," exclaimed Johnnie, who had almost left off
lisping, "he hardly ever has a touch of asthma now. His brother hates
trouble, so if he cannot find him he may go off by himself."

"I was just writing out my verses," Crayshaw whispered, "when I
overheard Mr. Brandon saying in the garden that he expected George."

"Were you alone?" asked Gladys, hoping he had not been seen to run off.

"Was I alone? Well, there was nobody present but myself, if you call
that being alone--I don't. That fellow argues so; he's, so intrusive,
and often makes such a noise that I can get no retirement for writing my
poetry."

"What a goose you are, Cray!" said Barbara. "I wish, though, you would
speak lower."

"Besides," continued Crayshaw, excusing himself to Mrs. Walk