“Perhaps they’re up in Parliament,” observed Brandon.

“No, that they’re not,” Swan exclaimed; “so sure as they’re there they make the roof ring.”

“And the door’s, locked.”

“Yes, the door’s locked, and wherever they air they’ve got the key.  They let nobody in, sir, but my daughter, and she goes o’ mornings to sweep it out.”

“Well, Swan, good day.  Come on, George, we’ll try the fir-wood first.”

“Or perhaps they’re gone to Wigfield,” said the second voice.

“No, sir, I think not,” said Swan.  “They sent one of the little boys there on an errand, so I judge that they’ve no call to go again.”

Yes, one of the little boys had been sent, and had no reason to be ashamed of what he had also done there on his own account.

What! though I have all sorts of good food in my father’s house, and plenty of it, shall it not still be a joy to me to buy a whole pot of plum-jam with my ninepence?  Certainly it shall, and with generous ardour I shall call my younger brothers and sisters together to my little room, where in appreciative silence we shall hang over it, while I dig it out with the butt-end of my tooth-brush.

Johnnie’s face grew radiant as these two went off to search the fir-wood, but nobody dared to speak or stir, for Swan was still close underneath, so close that they could hear him grumbling to himself over the laziness of a woman who had been hired to weed the walks for him, and was slowly scratching them at a good distance.

“Ay, there you go, grudging every weed you pull.  The master says it ain’t a woman’s work—­wants to raise you—­you!  ‘Sir,’ says I, ’folks can’t rise o’ top of parish pay,’ Ay, she was a pauper, and she’d have liked to charge the parish twopence a time for suckling her own child.  Now what would you have?  Ain’t two shillings a day handsome for scratching out half a peck of grass?  You might work here for some time, too, but bless us, what’s the good of saying to such as you, ’Don’t stand waiting for good luck, and give the go-by to good opportunity?’ Your man’s just like you,” he continued, using his rake with delicate skill among the flowers, 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.”