“I went out to tea when I was two, and nobody said I was too small.  I have real tea at parties, not milk-and-water.  And I have been out to tea often and often—­haven’t I, Lassie?”

“Not so many times as I have,” replied the elder red thing, with dignity.

She was standing in front of the wide old fireplace, warming her hands, and she was to Sir John’s eye somewhat suggestive of a robin-redbreast that had fluttered in and lighted there.

“Of course not, because you’re older,” said Moppet, disgusted at this superfluous self-assertion on her sister’s part.  “I am always good at parties—­ain’t I, Uncle Tom?” turning an appealing face to Mr. Danby.

“So these Lilliputians are your nieces, Danby!” exclaimed Sir John.

“Well, no, they are not exactly nieces, though they are very near and dear.  I am only a jury uncle.”

“A jury uncle!” cried Moppet, throwing her head back and laughing at the unknown word.

“A jury uncle!” echoed the other two, and the three laughed prodigiously; not because they attached any meaning to the word, but only because they didn’t know what it meant.  That was where the joke lay.

“You know that in Cornwall and in Sicily all the elderly men are uncles, and all the old women aunts—­everybody’s uncles and aunts,” concluded Mr. Danby.

Moppet still occupied Sir John’s knee.  She felt somehow that it was a post of honor, and she had no inclination to surrender it.  Her tiny fingers had possessed themselves of his watch-chain.

“Please show me your watch,” she said.

Sir John drew out a big hunter.

Moppet approached her little rosy mouth to the hinge and blew violently.

“Why don’t it open as Uncle Tom’s watch does when I blow?” she asked.  “Is it broken?”

“Blow again, and we’ll see about that,” said Sir John, understanding the manoeuvre.

The big bright case flew open as Moppet blew.

“Take care it doesn’t bite your nose off.”

“How big and bright it is—­much bigger and brighter than Uncle Tom’s.”

“Uncle Tom’s is a lady’s watch, and Uncle Tom’s a lady’s man,” said Sir John, and the triple peal of childish laughter which greeted this remark made him fancy himself a wit.

Small as they were, these children were easily amused, and that was a point in their favor, he thought.

“Tea is ready in the breakfast-room,” said Adela.

“Tea in the breakfast-room.  Oh, how funny!” And again they all laughed.

At any rate, they were not doleful children—­no long faces, no homesick airs, no bilious headaches—­so far.

“I dare say they will all start measles or whooping-cough before we have done with them,” thought Sir John, determined not to be hopeful.

“Oh, we are to come to tea, are we?” he said, cheerily, and he actually carried Moppet all the way to the breakfast-room, almost at the other end of the rambling old house, and planted her in a chair by his side at the tea-table.  She nestled up close beside him.