Crayshaw accepted it graciously.

“You must write my name in it,” he observed, with exceeding mildness, “and mind you write it with a soft G.”

“Yes, of course,” said little Hugh, taking in, but hesitating how to obey.

“A hard G is quite wrong, and very indigestible too,” he continued, yet more mildly; “though people will persist that it’s a capital letter.”

The young people then began to congratulate themselves on their success as regarded Miss Crampton.

“She scarcely stayed five minutes, and she was so afraid of the machine, and so shocked at the whittling and the talk, and Cray’s whole appearance, that she will not come near us while he is here.  After that, the stair-rods will protect us.”

“No,” said Crayshaw, “but it’s no stimulus to my genius to have to talk Yankee to such ignorant people.  I might mix up North, South, and West as I liked, and you would be none the wiser.  However, if she chances to hear me speak a week hence, she’ll believe that my accent has entirely peeled off.  I thought I’d better provide against that probability.  It was an invention worthy of a poet, which I am.”

“Que les poetes thoient pendus,” said Augustus John, with vigour and sincerity.  “Ekthepting Homer and Tennython,” he added, as if willing to be just to all men.

“What for? they’ve done nothing to you.”

“Haven’t they!  But for them I need not watht my life in making Latin vertheth.  The fighting, though, in Homer and Tennython I like.”

In the meantime the four younger children were whispering together over a large paper parcel, that crackled a good deal.

“Which do you think is the grandest word?” said Bertram.

“I fallacious, Janie.”

“But you said you would put umbrageous,” observed Hugh, in a discontented tone.

“No, those words don’t mean it,” answered Janie.  “I like ambrosial best.  Put ‘For our dear ambrosial Johnnie.’”

The parcel contained as many squibs and crackers as the seller thereof would trust with his young customers; also one rocket.

Johnnie’s little brothers and sisters having written these words, rose from the floor on which they had been seated, and with blushes and modest pride presented the parcel.

“For a birthday present,” they said, “and, Johnnie, you’re to let off every one of them your own self; and lots more are coming from the shop.”

“My wig!” exclaimed Johnnie, feigning intense surprise, though he had heard every word of the conference.  “Let them all off mythelf, did you thay?  Well, I do call that a motht egregiouth and tender lark.”

These epithets appeared to give rarity and splendour to his thanks.  Janie pondered over them a little, but when Crayshaw added, “Quite parenthetical,” she gave it up.  That was a word she could not hope to understand.  When a difficulty is once confessed to be unconquerable, the mind can repose before it as before difficulties overcome, so says Whately.  “If it had only been as hard a word as chemical” thought Janie, “I would have looked it out in the spelling-book; but this word is so very hard that perhaps nobody knows it but Cray.”