“William,” said Barbara pleasantly, “I can dweam.  Can you?”

He made no answer.

“Answer your cousin, William,” said his mother.

He swallowed, then spoke plaintively, “You always say not to talk with my mouth full,” he said.

“You could speak when you’ve finished the mouthful.”

“No.  ’Cause I want to fill it again then,” said William, firmly.

“Dear, dear!” murmured Aunt Jane.

This was Aunt Jane’s usual contribution to any conversation.

He looked coldly at the three pairs of horrified aunts’ eyes around him, then placidly continued his meal.

Mrs. Brown hastily changed the subject of conversation.  The art of combining the duties of mother and hostess is sometimes a difficult one.

Christmas afternoon is a time of rest.  The three aunts withdrew from public life.  Aunt Lucy found a book of sermons in the library and retired to her bedroom with it.

“It’s the next best thing, I think,” she said with a sad glance at William.

William was beginning definitely to dislike Aunt Lucy.

“Please’m,” said the cook an hour later, “the mincing machine’s disappeared.”

“Disappeared?” said William’s mother, raising her hand to her head.

“Clean gone’m.  ’Ow’m I to get the supper’m?  You said as ’ow I could get it done this afternoon so as to go to church this evening.  I can’t do nuffink with the mincing machine gone.”

“I’ll come and look.”

They searched every corner of the kitchen, then William’s mother had an idea.  William’s mother had not been William’s mother for eleven years without learning many things.  She went wearily up to William’s bedroom.

William was sitting on the floor.  Open beside him was “Things a Boy Can Do.”  Around him lay various parts of the mincing machine.  His face was set and strained in mental and physical effort.  He looked up as she entered.

“It’s a funny kind of mincing machine,” he said, crushingly.  “It’s not got enough parts.  It’s made wrong——­”

“Do you know,” she said, slowly, “that we’ve all been looking for that mincin’ machine for the last half-hour?”

“No,” he said without much interest, “I di’n’t.  I’d have told you I was mendin’ it if you’d told me you was lookin’ for it.  It’s wrong,” he went on aggrievedly.  “I can’t make anything with it.  Look!  It says in my book ’How to make a model railway signal with parts of a mincing machine.’  Listen!  It says, ’Borrow a mincing machine from your mother——­”

“Did you borrow it?” said Mrs. Brown.

“Yes.  Well, I’ve got it, haven’t I?  I went all the way down to the kitchen for it.”

“Who lent it to you?”

“No one lent it me.  I borrowed it.  I thought you’d like to see a model railway signal.  I thought you’d be interested.  Anyone would think anyone would be interested in seein’ a railway signal made out of a mincin’ machine.”