The widow tried in vain to soothe him with caresses, but he only stamped and howled the more.  But Miss Letitia gave him some smart smacks on the shoulders to cure his choking fit, and as she kept up the treatment with vigour, the young gentleman was obliged to stop and assure her that the raisin had “gone the right way” at last.  “If he were my child,” Miss Letitia had been known to observe, with that confidence which characterizes the theories of those who are not parents, “I would, &c., &c., &c.;” in fact, Miss Letitia thought she would have made a very different boy of him—­as, indeed, I believe she would.

“Are crackers all that you have for us, sir?” asked one of the two school-boys, as they hung over the tutor’s chair.  They were twins, grand boys, with broad, good-humoured faces, and curly wigs, as like as two puppy dogs of the same breed.  They were only known apart by their intimate friends, and were always together, romping, laughing, snarling, squabbling, huffing and helping each other against the world.  Each of them owned a wiry terrier, and in their relations to each other the two dogs (who were marvellously alike) closely followed the example of their masters.

“Do you not care for crackers, Jim?” asked the tutor.

“Not much, sir.  They do for girls:  but, as you know, I care for nothing but military matters.  Do you remember that beautiful toy of yours—­’The Besieged City’?  Ah!  I liked that.  Look out, Tom! you’re shoving my arm.  Can’t you stand straight, man?’

“R-r-r-r—­r-r, snap!”

Tom’s dog was resenting contact with Jim’s dog on the hearthrug.  There was a hustle among the four, and then they subsided.

“The Besieged City was all very well for you, Jim,” said Tom, who meant to be a sailor; “but please to remember that it admitted of no attack from the sea; and what was there for me to do?  Ah, sir! you are so clever, I often think you could help me to make a swing with ladders instead of single ropes, so that I could run up and down the rigging whilst it was in full go.”

“That would be something like your fir-tree prank, Tom,” said his sister.  “Can you believe,” she added, turning to the visitor, “that Tom lopped the branches of a tall young fir-tree all the way up, leaving little bits for foothold, and then climbed up it one day in an awful storm of wind, and clung on at the top, rocking backwards and forwards?  And when Papa sent word for him to come down, he said parental authority was superseded at sea by the rules of the service.  It was a dreadful storm, and the tree snapped very soon after he got safe to the ground.”

“Storm!” sneered Tom, “a capful of wind.  Well, it did blow half a gale at the last.  But oh! it was glorious!”

“Let us see what we can make of the crackers,” said the tutor—­and he pulled some out of his pocket.  They were put in a dish upon the table, for the company to choose from; and the terriers jumped and snapped, and tumbled over each other, for they thought that the plate contained eatables.  Animated by the same idea, but with quieter steps, Master MacGreedy also approached the table.