"You are holding a Court here," said the school-master.
"We have had tea out here. It is too hot for indoors, and I am
reading them the 'Water Babies.'"
"To a large audience, I see."
"Yes, and some of which are not quite sure whether it is fact or
fiction. Come and sit down."
"The boys will hate us for breaking up their reading," said Mary.
"Why should not we listen!" said her brother.
"Don't disturb yourselves, boys; we've met before to-day."
Bobus and Jock were, however, on their feet, and Johnny had half
risen; Robin lay still snoring, and Joe had retreated into the wood
from the alarming spectacle of "the schoolmaster abroad."
After a greeting to the two girls, who comported themselves,
according to their ages, as young ladies might be expected to do, the
Ogilvies found accommodation on the roots of the tree, and listened.
The "Water Babies" were then new, and Mr. Ogilvie had never heard
them. Luckily the reading had just come to the history of the "Do as
You Likes," and the interview between the last of the race and M. Du
Chaillu diverted him beyond measure. He laughed so much over the
poor fellow's abortive attempt to say "Am I not a man and a brother?"
that his three scholars burst out into a second edition of shouts of
laughter at the sight of him, and thus succeeded in waking Robin,
who, after a great contortion, sat up on the grass, and, rubbing his
eyes, demanded in an injured tone what was the row?
"'The Last of the Do as You Likes,'" said Armine.
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