"Ah!" she said at last, pointing the boy out to the porter, "there he
is! At that table with all the young gentlemen. Doesn't he look fine?
And don't they fit him beautifully? Why, no one would know the
difference if he were to sit down and one of those young gentlemen were
to wait on him."
E.V.L.
* * * * *
PIGLETS.
While waiting for proof-sheets of my book on _The Dynamic Force of
Modern Art_ I thought I might get a certain amount of amusement out of a
little correspondence with my neighbour, Mr. Gibbs, small farmer and
dairyman, between whom and myself letters had passed a short time ago on
the subject of a noisy cow, since removed from the field below the study
window of the house that has been lent me by my friend Hobson. With this
end in view I wrote to Mr. Gibbs as follows:--
My dear Mr. Gibbs,--The field of the uproarious cow has, I
notice, suddenly become tenanted again, this time by what appears to be
a school, herd or murrain of swine. Their number seems to vary.
Sometimes I count ten younglings, sometimes as many as thirteen, and
once I made it as much as fourteen.
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