“I have thought of one for the Reform Bill,” said Emily:  “get a portrait of Lord Russell, and let his scroll say, ‘They’ve passed my bill.’”

“That is a good one, but they must not be too simple and easy, or they are forgotten,” said one of the girls; “but we make them for many things besides historical events.  Those are portraits, and show when people were born.  There is dear Grand; ‘I owe Grand love and duty,’ That next one is Tennyson; ‘I have won laurels.’  There’s Swan; Swan said he did not know whether he was born in 1813 or 1814; so Johnnie did them both.  ’The principal thing’s muck as these here airly tates require.’  You see the first Napoleon, looking across the Channel at Britannia with the boot:  he says, ‘I hate white cliffs,’ which means Trafalgar; and ‘I cry, Jam satis,’ father has just invented for Charles, that King of Spain who was Emperor of Germany too.  You can see by it that he abdicated in 1556.  Miss Crampton used to wonder at our having become so clever with our dates all on a sudden.  And there’s one that Mr. Brandon made.  You see those ships?  That is a picture of Boston harbour (Cray’s Boston).  If you were nearer, you could see them pouring something over their sides into the water, using the harbour for a teapot.  On their pennons is written, ’Tea of King George’s own making.’  Oh, Cray! what is that noise?” Silence, a crunching of decided step coming on fast and firmly; the faces of the party fell.

“It’s all up!” sighed Crayshaw.

Somebody shook the door at the foot of the stairs; then a voice rang through the place like a silver trumpet, “Johnnie.”

“Yes, father,” answered Johnnie in the loud, melancholy tone not unfrequently used by a boy when he succumbs to lawful authority.

“What are you about, sir?  What are you thinking of?  Come down this moment, and open the door.”

One of the little boys had been already dispatched down-stairs, and was turning the key.  In another instant John Mortimer, coming quickly up beheld the party seated on the floor, looking very foolish, and Mrs. Walker in his throne laughing.  Crayshaw got up to present himself, and take the blame on his own shoulders, and John was so much surprised to find Emily present, and perhaps aiding, that he stopped short in his inquiry how they had dared to bring him home when he was so busy, and observing the ridiculous side of the question, sat down at once, and laughed also, while she said something by way of excuse for them, and they made the best defence they could.

Emily had the little Anastasia in her arms; the child, tired of inaction, had fallen asleep, with her delicate rosy cheek leaning against Emily’s fair throat.

John felt the beauty of the attitude, and perceived how Emily’s presence gave completeness to the group.