“Nothing. And here are some tools of industry， a wheelbarrowand a hoe， and I think these are meant for hop-poles. This is amodel beehive， and that is a ventilator， for ventilating sewers.
This seems to be another municipal dust-bin—no， it is a modelof a school of art and public library. This little lead figureis Mrs. Hemans， a poetess， and this is Rowland Hill， whointroduced the system of penny postage. This is Sir JohnHerschel， the eminent astrologer.”
“Are we to play with these civilian figures？” asked Eric.
“Of course，” said Harvey， “these are toys； they are meant tobe played with.”
“But how？”
It was rather a poser. “You might make two of them contesta seat in Parliament，” said Harvey， “an have an election—”
“With rotten eggs， and free fights， and ever so many brokenheads！” exclaimed Eric.
“And noses all bleeding and everybody drunk as can be，”
echoed Bertie， who had carefully studied one of Hogarth’spictures.
“Nothing of the kind，” said Harvey， “nothing in the leastlike that. Votes will be put in the ballot-box， and the Mayorwill count them—and he will say which has received the mostvotes， and then the two candidates will thank him for presiding，and each will say that the contest has been conductedthroughout in the pleasantest and most straightforward fashion，and they part with expressions of mutual esteem. There’s ajolly game for you boys to play. I never had such toys when Iwas young.”
“I don’t think We’ll play with them just now，” said Eric， withan entire absence of the enthusiasm that his uncle had shown；“I think perhaps we ought to do a little of our holiday task. It’shistory this time； we’ve got to learn up something about theBourbon period in France.”
“The Bourbon period，” said Harvey， with some disapprovalin his voice.
“We’ve got to know something about Louis the Fourteenth，”
continued Eric； “I’ve learnt the names of all the principalbattles already.”
This would never do. “There were， of course， some battlesfought during his reign，” said Harvey， “but I fancy the accountsof them were much exaggerated； news was very unreliable inthose days， and there were practically no war correspondents，so generals and commanders could magnify every littleskirmish they engaged in till they reached the proportions ofdecisive battles. Louis was really famous， now， as a landscapegardener； the way he laid out Versailles was so much admiredthat it was copied all over Europe.”
“Do you know anything about Madame Du Barry？” askedEric； “didn’t she have her head chopped off？”
“She was another great lover of gardening，” said Harvey，evasively； “in fact， I believe the well known rose Du Barrywas named after her， and now I think you had better play for alittle and leave your lessons till later.”
Harvey retreated to the library and spent some thirty or fortyminutes in wondering whether it would be possible to compilea history， for use in elementary schools， in which there shouldbe no prominent mention of battles， massacres， murderousintrigues， and violent deaths. The York and Lancaster periodand the Napoleonic era would， he admitted to himself， presentconsiderable difficulties， and the Thirty Years’ War wouldentail something of a gap if you left it out altogether. Still， itwould be something gained if， at a highly impressionable age，children could be got to fix their attention on the invention ofcalico printing instead of the Spanish Armada or the Battle ofWaterloo.
It was time， he thought， to go back to the boys’ room， andsee how they were getting on with their peace toys. As hestood outside the door he could hear Eric’s voice raised incommand； Bertie chimed in now and again with a helpfulsuggestion.
“That is Louis the Fourteenth，” Eric was saying， “that onein knee-breeches， that Uncle said invented Sunday schools. Itisn’t a bit like him， but it’ll have to do.”
“We’ll give him a purple coat from my paintbox by and by，”
said Bertie.
“Yes， an’ red heels. That is Madame de Maintenon， thatone he called Mrs. Hemans. She begs Louis not to go on thisexpedition， but he turns a deaf ear. He takes Marshal Saxewith him， and we must pretend that they have thousands ofmen with them. The watchword is Qui vive？ and the answer isL’état c’est moi—that was one of his favourite remarks， youknow. They land at Manchester in the dead of the night， and aJacobite conspirator gives them the keys of the fortress.”
Peeping in through the doorway Harvey observed that themunicipal dust-bin had been pierced with holes to accommodatethe muzzles of imaginary cannon， and now represented theprincipal fortified position in Manchester； John Stuart Mill hadbeen dipped in red ink， and apparently stood for Marshal Saxe.
“Louis orders his troops to surround the Young Women’sChristian Association and seize the lot of them. ‘Once back atthe Louvre and the girls are mine，’ he exclaims. We must useMrs. Hemans again for one of the girls； she says ‘Never，’ andstabs Marshal Saxe to the heart.”
“He bleeds dreadfully，” exclaimed Bertie， splashing red inkliberally over the fa？ade of the Association building.
“The soldiers rush in and avenge his death with the utmostsavagery. A hundred girls are killed”—here Bertie emptied theremainder of the red ink over the devoted building—“and thesurviving five hundred are dragged off to the French ships. ‘Ihave lost a Marshal，’ says Louis， ‘but I do not go back emptyhanded.’”
Harvey stole away from the room， and sought out his sister.
“Eleanor，” he said， “the experiment—”
“Yes？”
“Has failed. We have begun too late.”
