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biscuit. Hector was on top of the marble clock on the mantelpiece with a dead mouse. The dining-room window looked out on the village street and the scent of the flowers that were growing in the garden of the cottage opposite came in warm gusts through the window.
    At first there was no conversation because everyone was too hungry, but presently Ezra asked, ‘Will the young ladies an’ gentlemen be stoppin’ for tea?’
    ‘Use your intelligence, Ezra,’ said the elderly gentleman severely. ‘Did you not take note of the muffins and strawberry jam I brought back from town? You know my personal abhorrence of muffins and strawberry jam.’
    ‘Very good, sir,’ said Ezra and left the room with a broad grin on his face.
    ‘Ezra’s mental processes are always somewhat slow on the morning after an evening’s visit to the Wheatsheaf,’ explained the elderly gentleman. ‘I trust you were not disturbed in the night? He has, I fear, this one regrettable failing. In all else he is the soul of rectitude.’
    The children laid down their knives and forks and gazed at the elderly gentleman in astonishment. A failing? Did he consider it a failing to sing and dance in the moonlight? ‘It was grand in the night,’ said Timothy. ‘We sang and danced too. It was grand.’
    It was the elderly gentleman’s turn to be astonished. ‘You danced in the night?’ he ejaculated. ‘What am I clasping to my bosom? Four young bacchanalians? It will be but a short period now before my grey hairs are brought with sorrow to the grave. It surprises me that your grandmother and the excellent Miss Bolt have survived so long. It does not surprise me that my suggestion of shouldering the burden in their place should have been received with such profound and touching gratitude. Never in my sixty-five years of mortal life have I seen my poor old mother so favourably impressed by a humble suggestion of my own. Ah, here comes Ezra with the rhubarb tart. Place it in front of Miss Nan, Ezra. If we are to have a mistress of this house, an infliction which by the mercy of God we have hitherto escaped, at least let her relieve us of some labour. What are you gaping at, Ezra? I have thought the strong family likeness between Miss Betsy and myself should have informed you that these young people are my relatives. They are my nephews and nieces, the children of my youngest brother. They areto live with us for the present. I feel for you, Ezra. I feel for myself. This has come upon us for our sins. Nan, my dear, why are you crying? If there is one thing I dislike more than a child it’s a crying child, and let me tell you, my dear…’
    He got no further, for sobbing with joy Nan had flung herself into his arms. Betsy followed, scrambling up on his left knee, Nan being now settled on his right, held within the curve of his right arm. For a few moments there was pandemonium, the boys cheering, Ezra laughing and stamping his wooden leg on the floor, Absolom barking and Hector hooting and flapping his wings.
    ‘That will do,’ said the elderly gentleman sternly. ‘The rhubarb tart grows cold. I am partial to rhubarb tart. Nan, return to your duties. Betsy, get down. Boys, hold your tongues. Hector, hold your beak. Ezra, you may go. Down, Absolom.’
    In a moment order was restored and they were all eating rhubarb tart in a wonderful golden silence, one of those musical silences rich with the chiming of unheard bells and the ring of silent laughter. When the tart was finished the elderly gentleman, now so marvellously transformed into Uncle Ambrose, got up and said, ‘Your joy, children, has been premature. I intend to impose conditions upon your sojourn with me. You will keep them or go to your Uncle Edgar, who lives in Birmingham and will dislike you even more than I do myself. Come into my study.’
    He left the room with Hector on his shoulder and they followed him gravely, but with their joy no whit diminished. They were prepared to fulfil any