"'Really, Master Leech, if you won't be good, I must tell your mamma.'
"'And I shall tell her,' he rejoined, 'if you do, what a time you've been idling here.'"
I may add in this place an anecdote sent to me by an intimate lady friend of Leech's, who, after speaking of his devotion to his wife and children, tells me that she was taking luncheon with him one day at his house in Brunswick Square.
"His two children dined at the same time. Leech said with a very grave voice:
"'Now, children, say your grace.'
"Both children began to say it together as fast as they could. Leech said when they had finished:
"'Well run—Ada first, Bougie a good second.'"
Mrs. Hall, a daughter of Mr. Adams—the Chattie of Leech's letters—supplies me with an example, "one out of many instances of great kindness to her as a child," which I present to my readers:
"I was about eight years old," says Mrs. Hall, "and on one rough morning during my stay with him at Broadstairs I was sent in charge of a maid to play upon the beach. The wind carried away my bonnet. Regardless of danger, I rushed into the sea after it, and after many struggles I recovered it, but was horrified to find that a crowd had collected round me. I was taken home dripping, and feeling very guilty. You can imagine the relief it was to find my dear friend ready to comfort and not to scold; and I have a happy recollection of being snugly tucked up on his knee for some hours after the event, while he continued his drawing."