"This one," said the girl. "An old maid looking under the bed for a man and hoping she'll find one."
"Goodness, Maria!" said the father, "are your children mad? The idea of sending such a thing to Tilly!"
"But she is an old maid," said the girl.
"Of course she is," said the father. "That's the mischief."
"Well, there's rather a good one where a wife is going through her husband's trousers and saying, 'Brightbourne's the place for change,'" said the girl. "Would that suit?"
"Of course not," snapped her father.
"Or the one where the bed is full of fleas?" the boy suggested.
"No jokes about fleas," said the father sternly. "No, you must change those for something else. Don't be funny at all with either your Uncle or Aunt. We can't run any risks. Send them local views—coloured ones, of course, but strictly local."
"Mr. Gates helped us," said the boy meanly.
"Mr. Gates doesn't know all the facts," said the father.