Some such thoughts, I believe, occurred to his Aunt.

“That’s right, Jack.  What a man you are!”

[Illustration]

The rosy cheeks became carmine, and Jack flung himself upon his Aunt, and kissed her with resounding smacks.

A somewhat wrecked appearance which she presented after this boisterous hug, recalled the headache to his mind, and as he settled the beaver hat, which had gone astray, he said ruefully,

“Is your headache very bad, Auntie Julie?”

“Rather bad, Jack. And as I can’t shake if off, I have to bear it.”

He went away on tiptoe, and it was only after he had carefully and gently closed the bedroom door behind him, that he departed by leaps and bounds to show himself in his bottle-green coat and capes, and white buttons and leggings to match, and beaver hat to boot, first to the young Browns, and after that to the General Public.

[Illustration]

As an Observer, I may say that it was a sight worth seeing; and as a
Bird of some wisdom, I prophesy well of that boy.

PROVERBS.

Fine feathers make fine birds.

Manners make the man.

Clowns are best in their own company; gentlemen are best everywhere.

Where there’s a will there’s a way.

All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.

What can’t be cured must be endured.

[Illustration:  OWL HOOT NO 2]

OWLHOOT II.

“Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling.” The Raven.

“Taffy was a thief.”—­Old Song.

I find the following letters at the Hole in the Tree.

“X LINES, SOUTH CAMP, ALDERSHOT.

“SIR,—­You speak with great feeling of that elevated position (I allude, of course, to the top of the eight-day clock), which circumstances led you somewhat hastily to decline.  It would undoubtedly have become you, and less cannot be said for such a situation as the summit of an easel, overlooking the blackboard, in an establishment for the education of youth.  Meanwhile it may interest you to hear of a bird (not of your wisdom, but with parts, and a respectable appearance) who secured a somewhat similar seat in adopting that kind of home which you would not.  It was in driving through a wood at some little distance from the above address that we found a wounded crow, and brought him home to our hut.  He became a member of the family, and received the name of Slyboots, for reasons with which it is unnecessary to trouble you.  He was made very welcome in the drawing-room, but he preferred the kitchen.  The kitchen is a brick room detached from the wooden hut.  It was once, in fact, an armourer’s shop, and has since been converted to a kitchen.  The floor is rudely laid, and the bricks gape here and there.  A barrack fender guards the fire-place, and a barrack