Not that Allen would leave an empty house behind him. Lying at full
length on the carpet, absorbed in a book, was Robert, a boy on whom
the same capacious brow as Janet's sat better than on the feminine
creature. He was reading on, undisturbed by the pranks of three
younger children, John Lucas, a lithe, wiry, restless elf of nine,
with a brown face and black curly head, and Armine and Barbara, young
persons of seven and six, on whom nature had been more beneficent in
the matter of looks, for though brown was their prevailing
complexion, both had well-moulded, childish features, and really fine
eyes. The hubbub of voices, as they tumbled and rushed about the
window and balcony, was the regular accompaniment of dinner, though
on the first plaintive tone from the little girl, the mother
interrupted a "Well, but papa," from Janet, with "Babie, Babie."
"It's Jock, Mother Carey! He _will_ come into Fairyland too soon."
"What's the last news from Fairyland, Babie?" asked the father as the
little one ran up to him.
"I want to be Queen Mab, papa, but Armine wants to be Perseus with
the Gorgon's head, and Jock is the dragon; but the dragon will come
before we've put Polly upon the rock."
"What! is Polly Andromeda—-?" as a grey parrot's stand was being
transferred from the balcony.
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