“I never can make out，” I said， “what people come here totea for. They can have their own tea at home if they like，—they’re not poor people，—with jam and things， and drink outof their saucer， and suck their fingers and enjoy themselves；but they come here from a long way off， and sit up straightwith their feet off the bars of their chairs， and have one cup，and talk the same sort of stuff every time.”
Selina sniffed disdainfully. “You don’t know anything aboutit，” she said. “In society you have to call on each other. It’s theproper thing to do.”
“Pooh！ you’re not in society，” said Edward， politely； “and，what’s more， you never will be.”
“Yes， I shall， some day，” retorted Selina； “but I shan’t askyou to come and see me， so there！”
“Wouldn’t come if you did，” growled Edward.
“Well， you won’t get the chance，” rejoined our sister，claiming her right of the last word. There was no heat aboutthese little amenities， which made up—as we understood it—the art of polite conversation.
“I don’t like society people，” put in Harold from the sofa，where he was sprawling at full length，—a sight the daylighthours would have blushed to witness. “There were some of ‘emhere this afternoon， when you two had gone off to the station.
Oh， and I found a dead mouse on the lawn， and I wanted toskin it， but I was n’t sure I knew how， by myself； and theycame out into the garden and patted my head，—I wish peoplewould n’t do that，—and one of ‘em asked me to pick her aflower. Don’t know why she could n’t pick it herself； but Isaid， ‘All right， I will if you hold my mouse.’ She screamedand threw it away； and Augustus （the cat） got it， and ran awaywith it. I believe it was really his mouse all the time， ‘coshe’d been looking about as if he had lost something， so I wasn’t angry with him； but what did she want to throw away mymouse for？”
“You have to be careful with mice，” reflected Edward；“they’re such slippery things. Do you remember we wereplaying with a dead mouse once on the piano， and the mousewas Robinson Crusoe， and the piano was the island， andsomehow Crusoe slipped down inside the island， into itsworks， and we could n’t get him out， though we tried rakesand all sorts of things， till the tuner came. And that wasn’t till aweek after， and then—”
Here Charlotte， who had been nodding solemnly， fell overinto the fender； and we realized that the wind had dropped atlast， and the house was lapped in great stillness. Our vacantbeds seemed to be calling to us imperiously； and we were allglad when Edward gave the signal for retreat. At the top ofthe staircase Harold unexpectedly turned mutinous， insistingon his right to slide down the banisters in a free country.
Circumstances did not allow of argument； I suggested a frog’smarch instead， and frog’s marched he accordingly was， theprocession passing solemnly across the moonlit Blue Room，with Harold horizontal and limply submissive. Snug in bed atlast， I was just slipping off into slumber when I heard Edwardexplode， with chuckle and snort.
“By Jove！” he said； “I forgot all about it. The new tutor’ssleeping in the Blue Room！”
“Lucky he didn’t wake up and catch us，” I grunted， drowsily；and both of us， without another thought on the matter， sankinto well-earned repose.
Next morning we came down to breakfast braced to grapplewith fresh adversity， but were surprised to find our garrulousfriend of the previous day—he was late in making hisappearance—strangely silent and （apparently） preoccupied.
Having polished off our porridge， we ran out to feed therabbits， explaining to them that a beast of a tutor wouldprevent their enjoying so much of our society as formerly.
On returning to the house at the fated hour appointed for study，we were thunderstruck to see the station-cart disappearingdown the drive， freighted with our new acquaintance. AuntEliza was brutally uncommunicative； but she was overheardto remark casually that she thought the man must be a lunatic.
In this theory we were only too ready to concur， dismissingthereafter the whole matter from our minds.
Some weeks later it happened that Uncle Thomas， whilepaying us a flying visit， produced from his pocket a copy of thelatest weekly， Psyche： a Journal of the Unseen； and proceededlaborously to rid himself of much incomprehensible humour，apparently at our expense. We bore it patiently， with the forcedgrin demanded by convention， anxious to get at the sourceof inspiration， which it presently appeared lay in a paragraphcircumstantially describing our modest and humdrumhabitation. “Case III.，” it began. “The following particularswere communicated by a young member of the Society， ofundoubted probity and earnestness， and are a chronicle ofactual and recent experience.” A fairly accurate deionof the house followed， with details that were unmistakable；but in this there succeeded a flood of meaningless drivelabout apparitions， nightly visitants， and the like， writ in amanner betokening a disordered mind， coupled with a feebleimagination. The fellow was not even original. All the oldmaterial was there，—the storm at night， the haunted chamber，the white lady， the murder re-enacted， and so on，—alreadyworn threadbare in many a Christmas Number. No one wasable to make head or tail of the stuff， or of its connexion withour quiet mansion； and yet Edward， who had always expectedthe man， persisted in maintaining that our tutor of a brief spanwas， somehow or other， at the bottom of it.
