If Miss Christie had not found plenty to do during the next six weeks, she would have grumbled yet more than she did over her wrongs.  As it was, Master Augustus John Mortimer came home from school for his long holidays, and he and his friends excited more noise, bustle, and commotion in the house than all the other children put together.

John Mortimer’s eldest son, always called Johnnie, to distinguish him from his father, was ridiculously big for his age, portentously clever and keen-witted, awkward, blunt, rude, full of fun, extremely fond of his father, and exceedingly unlike him in person.  His hair was nearly black, his forehead was square and high, his hands and feet almost rivalled those of his parent in size, and his height was five feet three.

In any other eyes than those of a fond parent he must have appeared as an awkward, noisy, plain, and intolerably active boy; but his father (who almost from his infancy had pleased himself with a mental picture of the manner of man he would probably grow into) saw nothing of all this, but merely added in his mind two inches to the height of the future companion he was to find in him, and wished that the boy could get over a lisp which still disfigured some of his words.

He brought such a surprising account of his merits with him—­how he could learn anything he pleased, how he never forgot anything, how, in fact, his master, as regarded his lessons, had not a fault to find with him, that when his twin sisters had seen it, there seemed to them something strange in his being as fond of tarts and lollipops as ever.

As for John, nothing surprised him.  Miss Christie saw great diversities in his children, but in regard to them all he showed an aggravating degree of contentment with what Providence had sent him.  Miss Christie wore through Johnnie’s sojourn at home as well as she could, and was very happy when she saw him off to school again; happier still when walking towards home across the fields with John Mortimer and the four younger children, they saw Brandon and Valentine at a distance coming to meet them.

“So they are at home again,” she exclaimed; “and now we’ll hear all about the wedding that is to be.  I’ve been just wearying for the parteeculars, and there never were such bad letter-writers as those girls.  Anyhow there’ll be a handsome bridegroom.”

“Ah!” said John Mortimer, “all the ladies admire Val.  He’s quite a woman’s man.”

“Well, and St. George is a man’s man, then,” retorted Miss Christie; “ye all admire him, I am sure.”

“And what are you, papa, dearest?” asked Janie, who had hold of his hand.

“I’m my own man, my little queen-regnant,” answered her father with a somewhat exultant laugh.

“Ay, Mr. Mortimer, I’m just surprised at ye,” quoth Miss Christie, shaking her head over these vainglorious words.

“I think father’s the most beautifullest man of all,” said little Janie, with a sort of jealous feeling as if somehow he had been disparaged, though she did not exactly know how.  “And the goodest, too,” she presently added, as if not satisfied with her first tribute to him.