One pleasant summer afternoon, Mr Wright, coming in from the office, seated himself beside his composed little wife, who was patching a pair of miniature pantaloons.

 

“Nan,” said the husband, with a perplexed² look, “what are we to do with our Robin³ when he grows up?”

 

“George,” answered the composed wife, “don’t you think it is rather soon to trouble ourselves with that question? Robin is a mere⁴ child yet. We must first give him a good education.”

 

“Of course, I know that,” returned the perplexed husband, “still, I can’t help thinking about what is to be done after he has had the good education. You know I have no relation in the world except brother Richard, who is as poor as myself. We have no influential⁵ friends to help him into the Army or the Navy or the Indian Civil Service; and the Church, you know, is not suitable for an imp⁶. Just look at him now!”

 

Mrs Wright looked through the window, over one of those sunny landscapes which are usually described as “smiling,” across a winding⁷ rivulet⁸, and at last fixed⁹ her gorgeous eyes on a tall post, up which a small black object was seen to be struggling.

 

“What can he be up to?” said the father.

 

“He seems to be up the telegraph-post,” said the mother, “investigating the wires, no doubt. I heard him talking about telegraphy to Madge this morning—retailing what cousin Sam tries to teach him,—and I shouldn’t wonder if he were now endeavouring to make sure that what he told her was correct, for you know he is a thorough

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