Mr. Ducker had said to her that very morning, rubbing his hands, and speaking in the conspirator’s voice:  “We must leave no stone unturned.  This is the time of seed-sowing, my dear.  We must pull every wire.”

The czar was a wire, therefore they proceeded to pull him.  They did not know he was a live wire until later.

Pearl Watson’s delight at being asked to a real party knew no bounds.  Maudie need not have worried about Pearl’s appearing at the feast without the festal robe.  The dress that Camilla had made for her was just waiting for such an occasion to air its loveliness.  Anything that was needed to complete her toilet was supplied by her kind-hearted mistress, the czar’s mother.

But Mrs. Evans stood looking wistfully after her only son as Pearl wheeled him gaily down the walk.  He was beautifully dressed in the finest of mull and valenciennes; his carriage was the loveliest they could buy; Pearl in her neat hat and dress was a little nurse girl to be proud of.  But Mrs. Evans’s pretty face was troubled.  She was thinking of the pretty baby pictures in the magazines, and Algernon was so—­different!  And his nose was—­strange, too, and she had massaged it so carefully, too, and when, oh when, would he say “Daddy-dinger!”

But Algeron was not envious of any other baby’s beauty that afternoon, nor worried about his nose either as he bumped up and down in his carriage in glad good humour, and delivered full-sized gurgling “goos” at every person he met, even throwing them along the street in the prodigality of his heart, as he waved his fat hands and thumped his heavy little heels.

Pearl held her head high and was very much the body-guard as she lifted the weighty ruler to the ground.  Mrs. Ducker ran down the steps and kissed the czar ostentatiously, pouring out such a volume of admiring and endearing epithets that Pearl stood in bewilderment, wondering why she had never heard of this before.  Mrs. Ducker carried the czar into the house, Pearl following with one eye shut, which was her way of expressing perplexity.

Two little girls in very fluffy short skirts, sat demurely in the hammock, keeping their dresses clean and wondering if there would be ice-cream.  Within doors Maudie worried out the “Java March” on the piano, to a dozen or more patient little listeners.  On the lawn several little girls played croquet.  There were no boys at the party.  Wilford was going to have the boys—­that is, the Conservative boys the next day.  Mrs. Ducker did not believe in co-education.  Boys are so rough, except Wilford.  He had been so carefully brought up, he was not rough at all.  He stood awkwardly by the gate watching the girls play croquet.  He had been left without a station at his own request.  Patsey Watson rode by on a dray wagon, dirty and jolly.  Wilford called to him furtively, but Patsey was busy holding on and did not hear him.  Wilford sighed heavily.  Down at the tracks a freight train shunted and shuddered.  Not a boy was in sight.  He knew why.  The farmers were loading cattle cars.