“Taught him never to come there no more,”
Armine broke in with “Nine times one are nine.”
It was an institution dating from the days when Janet made her first acquaintance with the “Little Busy Bee,” that there should be something, of some sort, said or shown to papa, whenever he was at home or free between dinner and bed-time, and it was considered something between a disgrace and a misfortune to produce nothing.
So when the two little ones had been kissed and sent off to bed, with mamma going with them to hear their prayers, Jock, on being called for, repeated a Greek declension with two mistakes in it, Bobus showed a long sum in decimals, Janet, brought a neat parallelism of the present tense of the verb “to be” in five languages—Greek, Latin, French, German, and English.
“And Allen—reposing on your honours? Eh, my boy?”
Allen looked rather foolish, and said, “I spoilt it, papa, and hadn’t time to begin another.”
“It—I suppose I am not to hear what till it has come to perfection. Is it the same that was in hand last time?”
“No, papa, much better,” said Janet, emphatically.
“What I want to see,” said Dr. Brownlow, “is something finished. I’d rather have that than ever so many magnificent beginnings.”
Here he was seized upon by Robert, with his knitted brow and a book in his hands, demanding aid in making out why, as he said, the tide swelled out on the wrong side of the earth.