“For,” said Lance, with a smack of exultation, “we are actually going back to our old quarters over the shop.”

“Oh!” A responsive sound of satisfaction from Geraldine.

“Nothing amiss?” asked Clement.

“Far from it.  We let Marshlands to great advantage, and there are many reasons for the flitting.  I ought to be at head-quarters, and besides there are the Sundays.  We are too many now for picnicking in the class-room, or sponging on the rectory.”

“And,” said Gertrude, “I dare not put his small family in competition with his organ.”

“Besides,” said Lance, “the ‘Pursuivant’ is more exacting, and the printing Will Harewood’s books has brought in more business—-”

“But how about space?  We could squeeze, but can you?”

“We have devoured our two next-door neighbours.  There’s for you!  You know Pratt the dentist had a swell hall-door and staircase, which we absorb, so we shall not eat in the back drawing-room, nor come up the flight which used to be so severe on you, Cherry.”

“I can only remember the arms that helped me up.  I have never left off dreaming of the dear old step springing up the stair after the day’s work, and the whistle to Theodore.”

“Ah, those were the jolly old days!” returned Lance, con amore.

“Unbroken,” added Clement, in the same tone.

“Better than Vale Leston?” asked Gertrude.

“The five years there were, as Felix called those last hours of delight, halcyon days,” said Geraldine; “but the real home was in the rough and the smooth, the contrivances, the achievements, the exultation at each step on the ladder, the flashes of Edgar, the crowded holiday times-—all happier than we knew!  I hope your children will care as much.”

“Vale Leston is their present paradise,” said Gertrude.  “You should see Master Felix’s face at the least hope of a visit, and even little Fulbert talks about boat and fish.”

“What have you done with the Lambs?” demanded Clement.

“They have outgrown the old place in every direction, and have got a spick-and-span chess-board of a villa out on the Minsterham road.”

“They have not more children than you have.”

“Five Lambkins to our four, besides Gussy and Killy,” said Lance; “though A-—which is all that appears of the great Achilles’ unlucky name—-is articled to Shapcote, and as for Gussy, or rather Mr. Tanneguy, he is my right hand.”

“We thought him a nice sort of youth when he was improving himself in London,” said Clement.

“You both were very good to him,” said Lance, “and those three years were not wasted.  He is a far better sub-editor and reporter than I was at his age, with his French wit and cleverness.  The only fault I find with him is that he longs for plate-glass and flummery instead of old Froggatt’s respectable panes.”

“He has become the London assistant, who was our bugbear,” said Geraldine.