"memor esto majorum."

old motto.

"....

all my fears are laid aside,

if i but remember only

such as these have lived and died!"

longfellow.

do you wish to avoid vexations? then never have a happy family! mine were countless.

fred could not get me an owl. lettice did want to show off with cocky. i had my own way, but she looked sulky and spiteful. i got tom smith's magpie; but i had to have him, too. however, my costume as showman was gorgeous, and edward kept our happy family well together. we arranged that tom should put mag on at the left wing, and then run round behind, and call mag softly from the right. then she would hop across the stage to him, and show off well. lettice was to let mother know when the spectators might take their places, and to tell the gardener when to raise the curtain.

i really think one magpie must be "a sign of sorrow," as nurse says; but what made bernard take it into his beautiful foolish head to give trouble i [271]cannot imagine. he wouldn't lie down, and when he did, it was with a grump of protest that seemed to forbode failure. however, he let cocky scold him and pull his hair, which was a safety-valve for cocky. benjamin dozed with dignity. he knew cocky wasn't watching for his yellow eyes.

i don't think lettice meant mischief when she summoned the spectators, for time was up. but her warning the curtain to rise when it did was simple malice and revenge.

i never can forget the catastrophe, but i do not clearly remember how tom smith and i began to quarrel. he was excessively impudent, and seemed to think we couldn't have had a happy family without him and his chattering senseless magpie.

when i told him to remember he was speaking to a gentleman, he grinned at me.

"a gentleman? nay, my sakes! ye're not civil enough by half. more like a new policeman, if ye weren't such a guy fawkes in that finery."

"be off," said i, "and take your bird with you."

"what if i won't go?"

"i'll make you!"

"ye darsen't touch me."

"daren't i?"

"ye darsen't."

[272]

"i dare."

"try."

"are you going?"

"noa."

i only pushed him. he struck first. he's bigger than me, but he's a bigger coward, and i'd got him down in the middle of the stage, and had given him something to bawl about, before i became conscious that the curtain was up. i only realised it then, because civil, stupid fred, arrived at the left wing, panting and gasping—

"measter bayard! here's a young wood-owl for ye."

as he spoke, it escaped him, fluff and feathers flying in the effort, and squawking, plunging, and fluttering, made wildly for the darkest corner of the stage, just as lettice ran on the mechanical mouse in front.

bernard rose, and shook off everything, and cocky went into screaming hysterics; above which i now heard the thud of uncle patrick's crutch, and the peals upon peals of laughter with which our audience greeted my long-planned spectacle of a happy family!

our irish uncle is not always nice. he teases [273]and mocks, and has an uncertain temper. but one goes to him in trouble. i went next morning to pour out my woes, and defend myself, and complain of the others.

i spoke seriously about lettice. it is not pleasant for a fellow to have a sister who grows up peculiar, as i believe lettice will. only the sunday before, i told her she would be just the sort of woman men hate, and she said she didn't care; and i said she ought to, for women were made for men, and the bible says so; and she said grandmamma said that every soul was made for god and its own final good. she was in a high-falutin mood, and said she wished she had been christened joan instead of lettice, and that i would be a true bayard; and that we could ride about the world together, dressed in armour, and fighting for the right. and she would say all through the list of her favourite heroines, and asked me if i minded their being peculiar, and i said of course not, why should you mind what women do who don't belong to you? so she said she could not see that; and i said that was because girls can't see reason; and so we quarrelled, and i gave her a regular lecture, which i repeated to uncle patrick.

he listened quite quietly till my mother came in, and got fidgetty, and told me not to argue with my uncle. then he said—

[274]

"ah! let the boy talk, geraldine, and let me hear what he has to say for himself. there's a sublime audacity about his notions, i tell ye. upon me conscience, i believe he thinks his grandmother was created for his particular convenience."

that's how he mocks, and i suppose he meant my irish grandmother. he thinks there's nobody like her in the wide world, and my father says she is the handsomest and wittiest old lady in the british isles. but i did not mind. i said,

"well, uncle patrick, you're a man, and i believe you agree with me, though you mock me."

"agree with ye?" he started up, and pegged about the room. "faith! if the life we live is like the globe we inhabit—if it revolves on its own axis, and you're that axis—there's not a flaw in your philosophy; but if—now perish my impetuosity! i've frightened your dear mother away. may i ask, by the bye, if she has the good fortune to please ye, since the maker of all souls made her, for all eternity, with the particular object of mothering you in this brief patch of time?"

he had stopped under the portrait—my godfather's portrait. all his irish rhodomontade went straight out of my head, and i ran to him.

"uncle, you know i adore her! but there's one thing she won't do, and, oh, i wish you would! it's [275]years since she told me never to ask, and i've been on honour, and i've never even asked nurse; but i don't think it's wrong to ask you. who is that man behind you, who looks such a wonderfully fine fellow? my godfather bayard."

i had experienced a shock the night before, but nothing to the shock of seeing uncle patrick's face then, and hearing him sob out his words, instead of their flowing like a stream.

"is it possible? ye don't know? she can't speak of him yet? poor geraldine!"

he controlled himself, and turned to the picture, leaning on his crutch. i stood by him and gazed too, and i do not think, to save my life, i could have helped asking—

"who is he?"

"your uncle. our only brother. oh, bayard, bayard!"

"is he dead?"

he nodded, speechless; but somehow i could not forbear.

"what did he die of?"

"of unselfishness. he died—for others."

"then he was a hero? that's what he looks like. i am glad he is my godfather. dear uncle pat, do tell me all about it."

"not now—hereafter. nephew, any man—with [276]the heart of man and not of a mouse—is more likely than not to behave well at a pinch; but no man who is habitually selfish can be sure that he will, when the choice comes sharp between his own life and the lives of others. the impulse of a supreme moment only focusses the habits and customs of a man's soul. the supreme moment may never come, but habits and customs mould us from the cradle to the grave. his were early disciplined by our dear mother, and he bettered her teaching. strong for the weak, wise for the foolish—tender for the hard—gracious for the surly—good for the evil. oh, my brother, without fear and without reproach! speak across the grave, and tell your sister's son that vice and cowardice become alike impossible to a man who has never—cradled in selfishness, and made callous by custom—learned to pamper himself at the expense of others!"

i waited a little before i asked—

"were you with him when he died?"

"i was."

"poor uncle patrick! what did you do?"

he pegged away to the sofa, and threw himself on it.

"played the fool. broke an arm and a thigh, and damaged my spine, and—lived. here rest the mortal remains."

[277]

and for the next ten minutes, he mocked himself, as he only can.

one does not like to be outdone by an uncle, even by such an uncle; but it is not very easy to learn to live like godfather bayard.

sometimes i wish my grandmother had not brought up her sons to such a very high pitch, and sometimes i wish my mother had let that unlucky name become extinct in the family, or that i might adopt my nickname. one could live up to backyard easily enough. it seems to suit being grumpy and tyrannical, and seeing no further than one's own nose, so well.

but i do try to learn unselfishness; though i sometimes think it would be quite as easy for the owl to learn to respect the independence of a mouse, or a cat to be forbearing with a sparrow!

i certainly get on better with the others than i used to do; and i have some hopes that even my father's godmother is not finally estranged through my fault.

uncle patrick went to call on her whilst he was with us. she is very fond of "that amusing irishman with the crutch," as she calls him; and my father says he'll swear uncle patrick entertained her [278]mightily with my unlucky entertainment, and that she was as pleased as punch that her cockatoo was in the thick of it.

i am afraid it is too true; and the idea made me so hot, that if i had known she was really coming to call on us again, i should certainly have kept out of the way. but when uncle patrick said, "if the yellow chariot rolls this way again, bayard, ye need not be pursuing these arch?ological revivals of yours in a too early english costume," i thought it was only his chaff. but she did come.

i was pegging out the new gardens for the little ones. we were all there, and when she turned her eye over us (just like a cockatoo), and said, in a company voice—

"what a happy little family!"

i could hardly keep my countenance, and i heard edward choking in benjamin's fur, where he had hidden his face.

but lettice never moved a muscle. she clasped her hands, and put her head on one side, and said—in her company voice—"but you know brother bayard is so good to us now, and that is why we are such a happy family."