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. Walker; “it’s so dull being with George, he’s always collecting things.  The last time I saw him he was on his knees cleaning up a dingy old picture he’d just bought.  Fanny stood beside him with a soapy flannel.  She looked quite religious; she was so grave.  I saw a red cabbage in the picture and a pot of porter, the froth extremely fine.  ‘I hope,’ said George, very hot after his exertions, ’that when you are of age you will follow in my steps, and endow our common country with some of these priceless——­’ ‘Common,’ interrupted Mrs. Jannaway.  ’Common country, do I hear aright, George Crayshaw?’ (I don’t love that old lady much.) ‘George,’ I said, for I pitied him for having a mother-in-law, ’when I get my money I shall pay a man to paint another old picture for you, as a companion to that.  There shall be three mackerel in it, very dead indeed; they shall lie on a willow-pattern plate, while two cock-roaches that have climbed up it squint over the edge at them.  There shall also be a pork-pie in it, and a brigand’s hat.  The composition will be splendid.’  I took out my pocket-book and said, ‘I’ll make a mem. of it now.’  So I did, and added, ’Mem.:  Never to have a mother-in-law, unless her daughter is as pretty as Fanny Crayshaw.’”

The little boys were now allowed to have tools and go on with their carving, still seated on the ground.  The girls took out their tatting, and talk went on.