Then Hugh suggested the glorious possibility of the angels bringing it to Fullfield, whereupon Hyacinth said that was not at all likely, because she knew that when a baby was born, it was usual for one or other parent to be present!

We stayed for a few days at Fullfield, and Hugh and Betty enjoyed themselves immensely.  Hyacinth said it was just like staying for a week at the pantomime, and Betty said, with a deep sigh, that it was much nicer, a billion times nicer.

Pauline’s brother Jack most nearly resembled any one in a pantomime, and the children loved him.  One day at lunch he went to the side-table to fetch a potato in its jacket, and coming back he laid it on Uncle Jim’s slightly bald head and said, “Am I feverish, father?”

“It Good Heavens, my boy!” exclaimed Uncle Jim; “you must be in an awful state!”

After that, the eyes of the children never left Jack during any meal at which they happened to be present, and whenever he got up to fetch anything, Hugh began dancing with joy and saying in a loud whisper, “He’s going to do something funny”; and if Jack remained silent, Hugh was sure he was thinking of something to do.  It is difficult to live up to those expectations.

One morning at breakfast Hugh said suddenly, “Aunt Woggles, have you got a mole?”

I said I believed I had.

“It’s frightfully lucky.  I have,” he said, pulling up his sleeve and disclosing a mole on his very white little arm.  “It is lucky.”

“I’ve got one too,” said Betty, diving under the table.

“All right, darling,” I said, “you needn’t show us.”

“I couldn’t, Aunt Woggles, at least not now.  If you come to see me in my bath, you can; but it’s truthfully there.”

I said I was sure it was.

“I ’spect she’s sitting on it,” said Hugh in aloud whisper; “that’s why.”

“We asked Mr. Hardy once if he had a mole, and he got redder and redder;” we asked him at lunch, said Betty.

“He got redder and redder,” said Hugh, by way of corroboration.  “Mother said moles weren’t good things to ask people about, so we asked him if he had any little children, and he hadn’t; then we didn’t know what to ask.”

“We only asked about moles because we wanted him to be lucky,” said kindhearted Betty.

“Last time I went to the Zoo,” said Hugh, “I gave all my bread to one animal.  He was a lucky animal, wasn’t he?”

It was the hippopotamus, I think; he was lucky.”

“Perhaps he has a mole, Hugh,” I said.

We’ll look, said Hugh.  “I ’spect he has.”

The proverbial difficulty of finding a needle in a haystack seemed child’s play compared to that of finding a mole on a hippopotamus.

Chapter XII

Another aunt, Anna by name, suggested that as I was at Fullfield, I might take the opportunity of paying her a visit at Manwell, why because I was at Fullfield I don’t know, as they are miles apart, counties apart I should say.  However, I went because it is difficult to refuse Aunt Anna anything; she accepts no excuses.  It is as well for any one who wishes to see Aunt Anna at her best to see her in her own home.  She, according to Aunt Cecilia, does best in her own soil.  Moreover, she is nothing without her family, it so thoroughly justifies her existence.