“Well,” reply they, nor do they seem to be much richer in conversation than I.

Bobby is the first to regain the use of his tongue.  He says, “My eye!” (oh, dear and familiar expletive, for a whole calendar month I have not heard you!)—­“my eye! what a swell you are!”

Meanwhile Sir Roger stands aloof.  If he ever thought of himself, he might be reasonably and equitably huffy at being so entirely neglected, for I will do them the justice to say that I think they have all utterly forgotten his existence:  but, as he never does, I suppose he is not; at least there is only a friendly entertainment, and no hurt dignity, in the gentle strength of his face.

In the exuberance of my happiness, I have given him free leave to kiss Barbara and Tou Tou, but the poor man does not seem to be likely to have the chance.

“Are not you going to speak to the general?” I say, nudging Barbara.  “You have never said ‘How do you do?’ to him.”

Thus admonished, they recover their presence of mind and turn to salute him.  There are no kissings, however, only some rather formal hand-shakings; and then Algy, as being possessed of the nearest approach to manners of the family, walks on with him.  The other three adhere to me.

“Well,” say I, for the third time, holding Barbara by one hand, and resting the other on Bobby’s stout arm, dressed in cricketing-flannel, while Tou Tou backs before us with easy grace.  “Well, and how is everybody?  How is mother?”

“She is all right!”

“And HE?  Is anybody in disgrace now?  At least of course somebody is, but who?”

“In disgrace!” cries Bobby, briskly.  “Bless your heart, no! we are

  ’Like the young lambs,
  A sporting about by the side of their dams.’

In disgrace, indeed! we are ‘Barbara, child,’ and ’Algy, my dear fellow,’ and ‘Bobby, love.’”

“Bobby!” cries Tou Tou, in a high key of indignation at this monstrously palpable instance of unveracity, and nearly capsizing, as she speaks, into a rabbit-hole, which, in her backward progress—­we are crossing the park—­she has not perceived.

“Well,” replies Bobby, candidly, “that last yarn may not be quite a fact, I own that; but I appeal to you, Barbara, is not it true i’ the main? Are not we all ‘good fellows,’ and ‘dear boys?’”

“I am thankful to say that we are,” replies Barbara, laughing; “but how long we shall remain so is quite another thing.”

“I have brought a present for him,” say I, rather nervously; “do you think he will be pleased?”

“He will say that he very much regrets that you should have taken the trouble to waste your money upon him, as he did last birthday, when we exerted ourselves to lay out ten shillings and sixpence on that spectacle-case,” answers Bobby, cheerfully.

“But what is it?”