a storm, she still could ride the waves on occasion with a staunch front.
Leaning heavily on Wakefield's shoulder, she appeared in the doorway of the dining-room, and cast an authoritative look over her descendants gathered there. Shock and concern displaced hilarity on their strongly marked countenances. Piers, who was nearest her, jumped to his feet and came to her side. Ernest brought a chair, and together they placed her in it.
"Mama, Mama," chided Ernest, adjusting her cap, so that her other too bright eye was discovered, "this is very bad for you."
Augusta said, sternly: "Wakefield, you are a very naughty boy. You deserve a whipping."
"Let the child be," rapped out her mother. "He minds his business, and he does what he is told, which is more than you do."
Lady Buckley fingered her cameo brooch and looked offendedly down her nose.
Reassured that nothing was wrong with her, Nicholas beamed across the table at his ancient parent. Her unflinching spirit, her temper, delighted him. "Game old girl," he murmured to himself. "She's marvellous, and no mistake."
"Are you hungry, Gran?" asked Renny. "Is that what brought you out?"
"No, no, no," ejaculated Ernest. "She's not hungry! She had a large bowl of cornflakes and puffed rice before she went to bed."
His mother turned her hawklike face on him. "Cornflakes," she muttered. "Cornflakes—silly leaves . . . puffed rice—silly seeds . . . leaves and seeds—fit food for a silly canary." She dropped her chin on her breast, turning a word over in her mind. "Canary." Her brain fumbled over it like a blind old tigress trying to discover the nature of a strange morsel. "Canary." Of what did it remind her? Her deep dark eyes roved over the faces of the clan till they fell on young Finch in the doorway. He was gazing at her in sheepish fascination. The instant she saw him she remembered why she had risen so
