’Well, if that isn’t as pretty a picture and as much like life as anything I ever saw,’ said Mr Prothero, interrupting the showman.  ’Come here, mother; Netta, look here.’

Mrs Prothero glanced into the box, which was nothing more nor less than a penny peep-show, and Owen began again.

‘To the right you beholds,’ when Netta, impatient, looked through a second glass, and exclaimed in ecstasy, ‘Where did you get this, Owen?’

In answer, the scene shifted, and Owen recommenced.

’Here you beholds Lisbon, that wast city, or rayther what wos Lisbon after the great earthquake.  See the ruins all around, and the women and children a screamin’; and the priests a-prayin’—­those men in robes is priests, papishers, like them Irish beggars.’

‘Hush, Owen,’ interrupted Mrs Prothero.  ‘Look, father, do look here!’

While Mr Prothero and Netta gazed admiringly, Mrs Prothero was off and returned with Shanno, Mal, and Tom the boy, who were all in a broad grin of delight at the arrival of their prime favourite, Owen.

He, meanwhile, is in his element; begins with Lord Nelson again, and makes the whole party take turns.  Then he goes to Lisbon; afterwards he has The Queen of the Cannibal Islands; The Great Fire of London; a portrait large as life of the immense fat man Daniel Lambert, at sight of which the servants all exclaim ‘Ach!’ and a variety of other splendid designs, which we decline to enumerate.  Suffice it to say that they all draw forth the approving commendations of the spectators, from Mr Prothero, master, to Tom, serving-lad.

When the peep-show has been duly exhibited, Netta again demands her brother’s history, and a particular account of how he procured the show.

‘Oh! there is not much to tell,’ says Owen, ’and I won’t tell that unless father promises to keep his lecture till to-morrow.  I hate a sermon late at night, but don’t so much mind it in the morning.  Don’t look so serious, mother; I don’t mean a clerical preachment.  Do you promise, father?’

‘Well, there, as you like,’ said Mr Prothero, laughing? ’but I wish you hadn’t made me break my shin.’

’Here’s a patch of diaculum, father.  I hope you have not really hurt yourself?’

‘No, wild goose.  Now, let’s have the story.’

’Well, here goes.  Since this time twelvemonth I have been a voyage to Australia and back:  seen Sydney and Botany Bay, and my brethren the convicts; done a little in the mercantile way:  speculated in gin and ’baccy on my own account, and helped the captain.  Came home as first mate of the ‘Fair Weather,’ and had enough of tailoring in the worst voyage I ever made.  We were almost wrecked more than once, and almost starved for the last month, owing to the time the leaky old hulk took in the voyage.  When we landed in Plymouth we had a spree, as you may suppose, and soon spent most of our money.  I and a messmate were to travel together as far as Swansea,