“I c-can’t, missus,” sobbed Palmerston.  “He—­he said yesterday as he’d g-give me the sack the next time he saw my eyes red.”

“Well, I must take ’em their tea myself, I suppose,” said Mrs Bowldler, who had a kind heart.  “No, Palmerston, your eyes are not fit.  But you see how I’m situated?” she appealed to Fancy.

“Do you usually let them ring for tea?” Fancy asked.

“No, child.  There must be something wrong with them both, or else with my clock,” answered Mrs Bowldler with a glance up at the timepiece.  “But twenty-five past four, I take you to witness! and I keep it five minutes fast on principle.”

“There is something wrong,” Fancy assured her.  “If you’ll take my advice, you’ll go in and look injured.”

“I couldn’t keep ’em waiting, though injured I will look,” promised Mrs Bowldler, catching up one of the two tea-trays.  “Palmerston had better withdraw into the grounds and control himself.  I will igsplain that I have sent him on an errand connected with the establishment.”

She bustled forth.  Fancy closed the door after her; then turned and addressed Palmerston.

“Dry your eyes, you silly boy,” she commanded.  Palmerston obeyed and stood blinking at her—­alternately at her and at his handkerchief which he held tightly crumpled into a pad; whereupon she demanded, somewhat cruelly: 

“Now, what have you to say for yourself?” He was endeavouring to answer when Mrs Bowldler came running in and caught up the other tea-tray.

“Which it appears,” she panted, “he is in a hurry to catch the post; and I hope the Lord will forgive me for saying that Palmerston had just this instant returned and would go with it.  But he has it done up in an envelope, and says boys are not to be trusted.  When I was a girl in my teens,” pursued Mrs Bowldler, luckily discovering that the second teapot had no water in it, and hastening to the kettle, “we learnt out of a Child’s Compendium about a so-called ancient god of the name of Mercury, whence the stuff they put into barometers to go up for fine weather.  He had wings on his boots, or was supposed to:  which it would be a convenience in these days, with Palmerston’s unfortunate habits.  For goodness’ sake, child,” she addressed Fancy, “take him out somewhere, that I mayn’t perjure myself twice in one day!”

She vanished.

“Now, what have you to say for yourself?” Fancy turned again upon Palmerston and repeated her question.

“That’s what’s the matter with me, Miss—­Fancy, I mean,” confessed he, after a painful struggle with his emotions.  “I never had nothing to say for myself, not in this world:  and—­and—­” he plucked up courage—­ “you got no business to play with me the way you did just now!” he blurted.

“Who said I was a-playin’ with you?” Fancy demanded; but Palmerston did not heed.

“And right a-top of your sayin’ as writin’ was unnatural!” he continued.