Perhaps you
would like to see the children? They are little darlings, and you
will soon be fond of them, I am sure."
A bell was rung, an order given, and presently appeared an
eight-year old boy, so excessively Scotch in his costume that he
looked like an animated checkerboard; and a little girl, who
presented the appearance of a miniature opera-dancer staggering
under the weight of an immense sash.
"Go and speak prettily to Miss Devon, my pets, for she is coming to
play with you, and you must mind what she says," commanded mamma.
The pale, fretful-looking little pair went solemnly to Christie's
knee, and stood there staring at her with a dull composure that
quite daunted her, it was so sadly unchildlike.
"What is your name, dear?" she asked, laying her hand on the young
lady's head.
"Villamena Temmatina Taltentall. You mustn't touch my hair; it's
just turled," was the somewhat embarrassing reply.
"Mine's Louy 'Poleon Thaltensthall, like papa's," volunteered the
other young person, and Christie privately wondered if the
possession of names nearly as long as themselves was not a burden to
the poor dears.
Feeling that she must say something, she asked, in her most
persuasive tone:
"Would you like to have me come and teach you some nice lessons out
of your little books?"
If she had proposed corporal punishment on the spot it could not
have caused greater dismay.
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