Fred could not get me an owl.  Lettice did want to show off with Cocky.  I had my own way, but she looked sulky and spiteful.  I got Tom Smith’s magpie; but I had to have him, too.  However, my costume as Showman was gorgeous, and Edward kept our Happy Family well together.  We arranged that Tom should put Mag on at the left wing, and then run round behind, and call Mag softly from the right.  Then she would hop across the stage to him, and show off well.  Lettice was to let mother know when the spectators might take their places, and to tell the gardener when to raise the curtain.

I really think one magpie must be “a sign of sorrow,” as nurse says; but what made Bernard take it into his beautiful foolish head to give trouble I cannot imagine.  He wouldn’t lie down, and when he did, it was with a grump of protest that seemed to forbode failure.  However, he let Cocky scold him and pull his hair, which was a safety-valve for Cocky.  Benjamin dozed with dignity.  He knew Cocky wasn’t watching for his yellow eyes.

I don’t think Lettice meant mischief when she summoned the spectators, for time was up.  But her warning the curtain to rise when it did was simple malice and revenge.

I never can forget the catastrophe, but I do not clearly remember how Tom Smith and I began to quarrel.  He was excessively impudent, and seemed to think we couldn’t have had a Happy Family without him and his chattering senseless magpie.

When I told him to remember he was speaking to a gentleman, he grinned at me.

“A gentleman?  Nay, my sakes!  Ye’re not civil enough by half.  More like a new policeman, if ye weren’t such a Guy Fawkes in that finery.”

“Be off,” said I, “and take your bird with you.”

“What if I won’t go?”

“I’ll make you!”

“Ye darsen’t touch me.”

“Daren’t I?”

“Ye darsen’t.”

“I dare.”

“Try.”

“Are you going?”

“Noa.”

I only pushed him.  He struck first.  He’s bigger than me, but he’s a bigger coward, and I’d got him down in the middle of the stage, and had given him something to bawl about, before I became conscious that the curtain was up.  I only realised it then, because civil, stupid Fred, arrived at the left wing, panting and gasping—­

“Measter Bayard!  Here’s a young wood-owl for ye.”

As he spoke, it escaped him, fluff and feathers flying in the effort, and squawking, plunging, and fluttering, made wildly for the darkest corner of the stage, just as Lettice ran on the mechanical mouse in front.

Bernard rose, and shook off everything, and Cocky went into screaming hysterics; above which I now heard the thud of Uncle Patrick’s crutch, and the peals upon peals of laughter with which our audience greeted my long-planned spectacle of a Happy Family!

* * * * *

Our Irish uncle is not always nice.  He teases and mocks, and has an uncertain temper.  But one goes to him in trouble.  I went next morning to pour out my woes, and defend myself, and complain of the others.