the window to say, "By-the-bye, if there's any pudding owing to me,
that little chorister fellow of ours, Bill Blake, has got a lot of
voracious brothers that want anything that's going. Tom and Blanche
might take it down to 'em; I'm off! Hooray!" and he scampered
headlong up the garden, prolonging his voice into a tremendous shout
as he got farther off, leaving every one laughing, and his mother
tenderly observing that he was going to run a quarter of a mile and
back, and lose his only chance of pudding for the week--old Bishop
Whichcote's rules contemplating no fare but daily mutton, to be
bought at a shilling per sheep. A little private discussion ensued
between Harry and Hector on the merits of the cakes at Ballhatchet's
gate, and old Nelly's pies, which led the doctor to mourn over the
loss of the tarts of the cranberries, that used to grow on Cocksmoor,
before it was inhabited, and to be the delight of the scholars of
Stoneborough, when he was one of them--and then to enchant the boys
by relations of ancient exploits, especially his friend Spencer
climbing up, and engraving a name on the top of the market cross, now
no more--swept away by the Town Council in a fit of improvement,
which had for the last twenty years enraged the doctor at every
remembrance of it. Perhaps at this moment his wife could hardly
sympathise, when she thought of her boys emulating such deeds.

"Papa," said Ethel, "will you lend me a pair of spectacles for the
walk?"

"And make yourself one, Ethel," said Flora.

"I don't care--I want to see the view."

"It is very bad for you, Ethel," further added her mother; "you will