“What made you carry Fani off again?”

“What have you done with all the exercise-paper?”

“What are you and he up to now?”

“It’s all your fault if we can’t do our lessons.”

“Where have you hidden him, so that he doesn’t keep his promise and come to the meeting?”

“Where have you put all the paper; I haven’t even begun on my exercises!”

The angry questioners, with Emma between them, came up the steps.  Their mother was just then called away; their aunt exclaimed:—­

“Be still, boys; how can Emma answer either of you, if you both keep up such a fire of questions?”

Emma darted to her aunt’s side, and eagerly whispered in her ear what she had done with the paper; adding:—­

“Do help me, aunty; you know if Oscar knew that, it would only make him more angry.”

Her aunt could not find it in her heart to blame Emma for the use she had made of the paper.

“Come in, boys,” she said, “and learn your lessons, and be quiet for a while; I’ll give you plenty of paper”; adding, as a farther argument, “your father will be at home directly, and you know he will not want a noise in the house.”

They came in quietly enough, and soon the four brothers and sisters were industriously at work over their lessons, around the table; even Oscar forgetting Fani for the time, in the interest of his studies.  It seemed as if peace and quiet were ensured for the rest of the evening.  But suddenly the silence was disturbed by a harrowing cry from Rikli, who pushed her chair back from the table, and ran out of the room into the passage-way, as if some monster were after her.  All looked up from their work and looked around in alarm for the cause of the outburst.

“Here, here!” cried Emma, pointing to the table, where a shining green gold-chafer was gravely walking over the white paper, evidently an escaped prisoner from the pocket of the indefatigable collector.

“Oh, Fred! you shouldn’t carry live creatures about in your pockets,” said his mother, gently.  “You have plenty of boxes for them.  Just see what discomfort you give your neighbors, to say nothing of yourself and the poor little animals.”

“Fred is nothing but a wandering menagerie-cage; and no decent person is safe anywhere near him,” said Oscar, returning to his book.

“At any rate, my collections are not all the time falling through and coming to nothing, like your clubs,” retorted Fred.  “And see here, mamma, what a handsome and useful little fellow this is; let me read you what it says about him”; and Fred opened his book, which was always close at hand:—­

“’The gold-chafer, Auratus, with its arched wing-coverings, and its strong pincers, lives upon caterpillars, larvae, and other injurious insects, and thus makes itself very useful.  But instead of being protected on this account, as it deserves to be, it is everywhere persecuted and trodden upon.’  So you see, mamma.”