He seated himself on a high stool, spread his book upon his knees and began:—­

“You know that papa once caught a bittern.  Well, I want to read you a description of it.  The ’bittern, Stellaris,’—­are you listening, aunty?”

“Oh, yes, I’m listening.  Go on.”

“—­’is of a reddish yellow color, with spots of black.  It makes a strange noise in the night; usually Krawy!  Krawy! but sometimes Uplumb!  Uplumb! The hen lays four biggish eggs.’  Do you know what I am reading, aunty?  What was the last thing?”

“Yes, yes, I heard.  ’The hen lays four biggish eggs,’—­two spoonfuls of flour, and the rind of a lemon,” said his aunt, unconsciously speaking out what was on her mind.

Fred looked up anxiously, for she had spoken quite seriously, without a trace of fun in her tones.

“Oh, I didn’t mean that,” she said, laughing, as she observed her mistake.  “I was only thinking more of my receipt than of your bittern, Fred.”

“I’m glad you don’t really think that birds lay flour and lemon-peel,” said Fred, and went on:—­

“‘The flesh tastes of—­’”

But the description was interrupted.  Oscar and Emma came bursting into the kitchen together, and while Oscar stood as close to his aunt, as he could, on the right, Emma pulled her head down on the left and began whispering into her ear.  Between the two, she had hard work to keep on with her pudding.

“Only think, aunty,” began Oscar, “Feklitus says now that he won’t have our motto on the banner, that he has heard another that he likes a great deal better.  What do you say, aunty?  What shall we do about it?  You know how cross he is when he is opposed, and he’ll break off altogether.”

“Emma, do be still a moment; I will listen to you presently.  Now, Oscar, what is this verse that Feklitus proposes; let us hear it and see if it is a good one.”

    “Liberty, Equality, Fraternity;
    With song and the juice of the vine,”

repeated Oscar.

“Is that all?”

Oscar nodded.

“Well, we cannot put that on the banner, at any rate,” said his aunt decidedly.  “Tell Feklitus that there isn’t even a verb in that motto, and it won’t do.  I advise you to ask him to make the speech at the festival, and then perhaps he’ll drop the question of the motto.”

“What a splendid idea!  We never even thought of a speech! that’s just the thing!” and Oscar rushed away in a state of great enthusiasm.

“Now, aunty,” cried Emma, in a tone of relief as he disappeared, “it’s my turn now.  Don’t you think I am right?”

“I didn’t hear exactly what you said, Emma,” said her aunt; “I haven’t the gift of hearing different things with different ears at the same time.”

“What I say is that it’s a shame for Fani to have to go to work in that factory, and not have any time to paint and draw.  I am sure he ought to be a painter, right away; and if he goes into the factory he can’t get out till it’s too late.”