CHAPTER VIII. IT IN RE BRASS. "Le coq français est le coq de la gloire, ́T was a cold, bright morning; I wrapped myself in a warm shawl, and walked up and down in the sun before the house, and watched the children at their play. Their noses looked a trifle blue, as they frisked about in their stout little coats and tried to open the gate with their be-mittened little fingers. Sophia was busy about some household matter, and had left them in my charge for an hour or so. The sun was growing a little warmer, and when I was tired I sat down on the horseblock outside the gate, and rested. As to the children they never seemed to tire, but purred about in contented little games into which, I am ashamed to say, I did not even try to enter. It rather bored me; and when I had opened the gate ad nauseam, and had found Baby's mitten for the twentieth time, I distinctly admitted to myself that I wished Sophia would get through her work and take the children off my hands. A good brisk walk would have been much more to my mind. I was sitting on the horseblock, harboring these discontented thoughts, when I heard a shout of greetng behind me, and turning, saw the beach cart, with the children and their tutor, drawing up to the gate. Mr. Macnally threw the reins to Ned and sprang out, coming towards me. He looked quite handsome as he stood, cap in hand, before the horseblock. “That fender-hunt,” he said. “We have come to see if you will go with us to-day." I think he was afraid of a refusal; he looked quite earnest and a little shy, and as if he were prepared to have to urge it very much. When he saw the delight which lighted my face at the prospect of getting rid of opening and shutting the gate for Baby, and assisting at Maidy's little tragedies, he looked much relieved. "I should like nothing better," I said, "if only Sophia will come and take the children. I promised her to keep them till she got through some stupid work she's set her heart upon." I ran in to see. Of course, she wasn't through; of course, she couldn't have them for an hour, at least. “Oh, Sophia, you'll have to!" I cried, made bold by my desire to go. "It isn't every day I get a drive. You'll have to let the things wait, or bring the children in.” I didn't look at her; I knew she was desperately angry, and I ran away to get my gloves, feeling very selfish and very young. When I came back I found Baby in Naomi's arms and Maidy in her friend's, the tutor's. "Won't you let them go too?" said the latter. 66 Ch, no!" I exclaimed. "Baby has to take her nap in half an hour. It would be insupportable. It would spoil the drive." "Then let me go, mamma-let me go. I'll be so good!" cried Maidy, in trembling suspense. you. "Impossible, Maidy; you know there isn't room for You'll stay like a good girl and play with Baby, and I'll bring you home some wild flowers if I find some." Maidy hid her face on her friend's shoulder and sobbed heart-brokenly. Baby meanwhile was screaming and scolding and slapping all in a breath. "Let Maidy go, won't you?" said the tender-hearted tutor, sotto voce. "There is room, and I'll take care of her. She won't be any trouble, if you don't mind." "It would be rather unreasonable in me to mind having my own child. Well, if you don't, she can go." Then Baby alone remained to be disposed of. I took the poor little termagant from Naomi and ran in to give her to Sophia. But Sophia would not even turn around from the closet shelves, which she was putting in order, and look at me. I had to kiss poor Baby and set her down on the floor, and call out my directions to Sophia, without any response. Outside the door I paused, half minded to give up the drive, and go back and take the Baby up. But through the door I caught sight of the gay-looking cart, and the horse with his best harness on; Maidy's radiant face, with her arms around the tutor's neck; Ned's picturesque suit, Naomi's gypsey hat; no-I couldn't give it up. As soon as we were out of sight Sophia would pick up Baby and put her to sleep; why should I let her stubbornness spoil everything? So I went out, but with rather a troubled look. "This seat is the most comfortable," said Mr. Macnally, putting me in the front seat. "Ned, who's going to drive?" he added. Ned hated the back seat and being with Naomi, and showed very plainly that he wanted to. "Very well, don't break our necks for us," Mr. Macnally said, putting Maidy in at the back, and jumping in after her. Ned got in beside me, and took the reins as if he felt a little ashamed of having been so selfish. But that didn't last long; he was too familiar with the sensation to be oppressed by it. "It's awfully cold," he said, putting a blanket over my lap; he meant to make up by being very considerate to me. The tutor had already muffled Maidy in wraps, and held her on his knee. Naomi was holding on with both hands. I am sorry to say that was what people on the back seat had to do in that cart, when it went fast. "How about school?" I said. "Isn't this an unusual hour for you all to be going on a lark ?” "Oh!” cried the tutor, "didn't we tell you? Well, it is an anniversary—we have so many feasts of obligation at Happy-go-lucky, it is difficult to remember. But this is a birthday, or something of that sort. For so small a family, we have a great many birthdays. This is the third since we came down from town, if I remember right.” "But they weren't all birthdays." 66 'They were all holidays, however, and very imperative. I don't think we could have existed if we hadn't taken holidays." "But whose is this?" "Shall I tell you?" cried Naomi in jerks, for we were going very fast. There was a sound as of the suppression of these jerks. "It isn't a birthday," said the tutor. "It's an anonymous sort of celebration; it's of doubtful origin--an apocryphal event; it isn't generally noticed in the family; but the day was fine, Ned's lessons were unusually hard, and Naomi hadn't written her French exercise. Ned, if you drive so fast I sha'n't be able to articulate another word." "I don't see the use of articulating fibs," said Ned, bumping fast over a bridge going out of the village. "I'll tell you; it's Mr. Macnally's birthday if you want to know," cried Naomi, in gasps, from the rear. "However' did you find it out?" I asked her, looking back. We slacked up now going up a hill, and Naomi was able to express herself quite audibly. "I'll tell you all about it." "Not if I can help it," said her tutor, throwing an afghan over her head. The smothered explanations from under it didn't enlighten me much, and Ned, who was out of reach, said, "Naomi found it in one of his books when she was snooping about his room." "I didn't snoop!” cried Naomi, getting her head out of the afghan. "Mr. Macnally sent me up to find a book on his table, and the window was open, and a perfect gale, and all the things blowing about, and his prayer-book and his portfolio on the floor. And I picked them up and the fly-leaf was loose and I put it back and it had the date on it, and I couldn't help seeing. I don't call that snooping." "No harm done, Naomi," he said. "We shouldn't be here but for that fly-leaf and that gale. It's an ill wind that blows nobody good." "I told Aunt Penelope about it, and she said we should have a holiday, and Mr. Macnally didn't want to, and got quite in a pet about it, and talked to Uncle, and said he couldn't do us any justice if we had so |