“Hush!  Hush!  Hush!” said my mother.  “You’re not to do Sunday lessons on week-days.  What terrible boys you are!” And, avoiding to fight about Jacob’s wives with Jem, who was pertinacious and said very odd things, my mother did what women often do and are often wise in doing—­she laid down her weapons and began to beseech.

“My darlings, call your nice little hens some other names.  Poor old mother doesn’t like those.”

I was melted in an instant, and began to cast about in my head for new titles.  But Jem was softly obstinate, and he had inherited some of my mother’s wheedling ways.  He took his hands from his pockets, flung his arms recklessly round her clean collar, and began stroking (or pooring, as we called it) her head with his grubby paws.  And as he poored he coaxed—­“Dear nice old mammy!  It’s only us.  What can it matter?  Do let us call our bantams what we like.”

And my mother gave in before I had time to.

The dialogue I held with Jem about the bantams after the walnut raid was as follows: 

“Jem, you’re awfully fond of the ‘Major and his wives,’ I suppose?”

“Ye-es,” said Jem, “I am.  But I don’t mind, Jack, if you want them for your very own.  I’ll give up my share,”—­and he sighed.

“I never saw such a good chap as you are, Jem.  But it’s not that.  I thought we might give them to Mrs. Wood.  It was so beastly about those disgusting walnuts.”

“I can’t touch walnut pickle now,” said Jem, feelingly.

“It’d be a very handsome present,” said I.

“They took a prize at the Agricultural,” said Jem.

“I know she likes eggs.  She beats ’em into a froth and feeds Charlie with ’em,” said I.

“I think I could eat walnut pickle again if I knew she had the bantams,” sighed Jem, who was really devoted to the little cock-major and the auburn-feathered hens.

“We’ll take ’em this afternoon,” I said.

We did so—­in a basket, Eshcol-grape wise, like the walnuts.  When we told Mother, she made no objection.  She would have given her own head off her shoulders if, by ill-luck, any passer-by had thought of asking for it.  Besides, it solved the difficulty of the objectionable names.

Mrs. Wood was very loth to take our bantams, but of course Jem and I were not going to recall a gift, so she took them at last, and I think she was very much pleased with them.

She had got her cap on again, tied under her chin, and nothing to be seen of her hair but the very grey piece in front.  It made her look so different that I could not keep my eyes off her whilst she was talking, though I knew quite well how rude it is to stare.  And my head got so full of it that I said at last, in spite of myself, “Please, madam, why is it that part of your hair is grey and part of it dark?”

Her face got rather red, she did not answer for a minute; and Jem, to my great relief, changed the subject, by saying, “We were very much obliged to you for not telling Father about the walnuts.”