"ANSTICE, will you come out for a ride with me?" Justin put his head in at the nursery door one afternoon with this request.
Anstice and Brenda were both busy cutting and shaping some frocks for the little girls out of some white serge on the nursery table. Ruffie was lying on his couch by the window, very busy with pencil and paper. He hailed his father's appearance with joy.
"Come and see what I am drawing. And wouldn't you like me to come on my pony with you?"
His father came over to the couch.
"No, my boy. I want Steppie by herself. When you are with us, she is too busy talking to you to talk to me."
"I will come in ten minutes," Anstice said, looking up from her cutting-out.
"Then I'll order the horses. Ruffie, my boy, what awful tragedy are you depicting?"
"It's a car turned nearly topsy-turvy on Scawfell, and there's the lady crying, and Steppie and I coming to rescue her. It's all true, and she said she knew you as a little boy. Wasn't that funny?"
"Lots of people knew me as a boy," said his father.
He was looking at his son's picture with a mixture of admiration and amusement. Ruffie's figures were wonderfully clever, and looked alive, though technically there were many mistakes.