“It’s Jock, Mother Carey!  He will come into Fairyland too soon.”

“What’s the last news from Fairyland, Babie?” asked the father as the little one ran up to him.

“I want to be Queen Mab, papa, but Armine wants to be Perseus with the Gorgon’s head, and Jock is the dragon; but the dragon will come before we’ve put Polly upon the rock.”

“What! is Polly Andromeda—-?” as a grey parrot’s stand was being transferred from the balcony.

“Yes, papa,” called out Armine.  “You see she’s chained, and Bobus won’t play, and Babie will be Queen Mab-—”

“I suppose,” said the mother, “that it is not harder to bring Queen Mab in with Perseus than Oberon with Theseus and Hippolyta-—”

“You would have us infer,” said the Doctor with grave humour, “that your children are at their present growth in the Elizabethan age of culture—-”

But again began a “Well, but papa!” but, he exclaimed, “Do look at that boy—- Well walloped, dragon!” as Jock with preternatural contortions, rolled, kicked and tumbled himself with extended jaws to the rock, alias stand, to which Polly was chained, she remarking in a hoarse, low whisper, “Naughty boy—-”

“Well moaned, Andromeda!”

“But papa,” persisted Janet, “when Oliver Cromwell-—”

“Oh! look at the Gorgon!” cried the mother, as the battered head of an ancient doll was displayed over his shoulder by Perseus, decorated with two enormous snakes, one made of stamps, and the other a spiral of whalebone shavings out of a box.

The monster immediately tumbled over, twisted, kicked, and wriggled so that the scandalised Perseus exclaimed:  “But Jock-—monster, I mean-—you’re turned into stone-—”

“It’s convulsions,” replied the monster, gasping frightfully, while redoubling his contortions, though Queen Mab observed in the most admonitory tone, touching him at the same time with her wand, “Don’t you know, Skipjack, that’s the reason you don’t grow-—”

“Eh!  What’s the new theory!  Who says so, Babie?” came from the bottom of the table.

“Nurse says so, papa,” answered Allen; “I heard her telling Jock yesterday that he would never be any taller till he stood still and gave himself time.”

“Get out, will you!” was then heard from the prostrate Robert, the monster having taken care to become petrified right across his legs.

“But papa,” Janet’s voice was heard, “if Oliver Cromwell had not helped the Waldenses—-”

It was lost, for Bobus and Jock were rolling over together with too much noise to be bearable; Grandmamma turned round with an expostulatory “My dears,” Mamma with “Boys, please don’t when papa is tired-—”

“Jock is such a little ape,” said Bobus, picking himself up.  “Father, can you tell me why the moon draws up the tides on the wrong side?”

“You may study the subject,” said the Doctor; “I shall pack you all off to the seaside in a day or two.”