in masses of small tight yellow curls, much given to tangling and
matting, unfit to be seen all the week, till nurse put him to torture
every Saturday, by combing them out so as, at least, to make him for
once like, she said, a gentleman, instead of a young lion.

Little Aubrey was said by his papa to be like nothing but the full
moon. And there he shone on them, by his mamma's side, announcing in
language few could understand, where he had been with papa.

"He has been a small doctor," said his father, beginning to cut the
boiled beef as fast as if his hands had been moved by machinery. "He
has been with me to see old Mrs. Robins, and she made so much of him,
that if I take him again he'll be regularly spoiled."

"Poor old woman, it must have been a pleasure to her," said Mrs. May
--"it is so seldom she has any change."

"Who is she?" asked Mr. Ernescliffe.

"The butcher's old mother," said Margaret, who was next to him. "She
is one of papa's pet patients, because he thinks her desolate and
ill-used."

"Her sons bully her," said the doctor, too intent on carving to
perceive certain deprecatory glances of caution cast at him by his
wife, to remind him of the presence of man and maid--"and that smart
daughter is worse still. She never comes to see the old lady but she
throws her into an agitated state, fit to bring on another attack. A
meek old soul, not fit to contend with them!"