“Like the man’s treasure that changed into slate stones when he made a bad use of it,” said Babie. “Oh! Armie, what shall we do? Shall we give plum-puddings to the little thin girls down the lane?”
“And I should like to give something good to the little grey workhouse boys,” said Armine. “I should so hate always walking out along a straight road as they do.”
“And oh! Armie, then don’t you think we may get a nice book to write out Jotapata in?”
“Yes, a real jolly one. For you know, Babie, it will take lots of room, even if I write my very smallest.”
“Please let it be ruled, Armie. And where shall we begin?”
“Oh! at the beginning, I think, just when Sir Engelbert first heard about the Crusade.”
“It will take lots of books then.”
“Never mind, we can buy them all now. And do you know, Bab, I think Adelmar and Ermelind might find a nice lot of natural petroleum and frighten Mustafa ever so much with it!”
For be it known that Armine and Barbara’s most cherished delight was in one continued running invention of a defence of Jotapata by a crusading family, which went on from generation to generation with unabated energy, though they were very apt to be reduced to two young children who held out their fortress against frightful odds of Saracens, and sometimes conquered, sometimes converted their enemies. Nobody but themselves was fully kept au courant with this wonderful siege, which had hitherto been recorded in interlined copy-books, or little paper books pasted together, and very remarkably illustrated.
The door began to creak with an elaborate noisiness intended for perfect silence, and Jock’s voice was heard.