“Yes,” said Jock. “One of our fellows has been on a moor not far from where she was astonishing the natives, conjointly with Lady Anne Macnalty. There were bets which of three men she may be engaged to.”
“Pending which,” said his mother, “I suppose poor Allen will continue to hover on the wings of the Petrel?”
“And send home mournful madrigals by the ream,” said Bobus. “Never was petrel so tuneful a bird!”
“For shame, Bobus; I never meant you to see them!”
“‘Twas quite involuntary! I have trouble enough with my own pupil’s effusions. I leave him a bit of Latin composition, and what do I find but an endless doggerel ballad on What’s his name?—who hid under his father’s staircase as a beggar, eating the dogs’ meat, while his afflicted family were searching for him in vain;—his favourite example.”
“St. Alexis,” said Babie; “he was asked to versify it.”
“As a wholesome incentive to filial duty and industry,” said Bobus. “Does the Parsoness mean to have it sung in the school?”
“It might be less dangerous than ‘the fox went out one moonshiny night,’” said their mother, anxious to turn the conversation. “Mr. Parsons brought Mr. Todd of Wrexham in to see the school just as the children were singing the final catastrophe when the old farmer ‘shot the old fox right through the head.’ He was so horrified that he declared the schools should never have a penny of his while they taught such murder and heresy.”
“Served them right,” said Jock, “for spoiling that picture of domestic felicity when ‘the little ones picked the bones, oh!’ How many guns shall we be, Bobus?”
“Only three. My uncle has a touch of gout, the Monk has got a tutorship, Joe has gone back to his ship, but the mighty Bob has a week’s leave, and does not mean a bird to survive the change of owners.”