THE children lay prone on the floor of the library
in various positions of juvenile comfort, watching
the firewood in the big wide grate sparkle and
crackle, or the broad snowflakes "spat" against the
window-panes, where they stuck awhile as if gummed,
and then began reluctantly to trickle down. As Sir
Toady Lion said, "It was certainly a nice day on
which to stop IN!"
The choice of the book from which to tell the next
Red Cap Tale had been a work of some difficulty.
Hugh John had demanded _Ivanhoe_, chiefly because
there was a chapter in it about shooting with the
bow, the which he had read in his school reader
when he ought to have been preparing his Latin. Sir
Toady wanted _The Fortunes of Nigel_, because the
title sounded adventurous. Sweetheart, who has been
sometimes to the play, was insistent for _The Bride
of Lammermoor_, while as to Maid Margaret, she was
indifferent, so long as it was "nice and eecitin'."
But the tale-teller, being in the position of the
Man-with-the-Purse (or in that of the House of
Commons with regard to the granting of supplies),
held to it that, in spite of its "growed-up" title,
_The Antiquary_ would be the most suitable. First,
because we had agreed to go right through the
Scottish stories; secondly, because _The Antiquary_
was one of the first which Sir Walter wrote; and
thirdly and lastly, because he, the tale-teller
aforesaid, "felt like it."
At this, I saw Hugh John look at his brother with
the quick glance of intelligence which children
exchange when they encounter the Superior Force.
That unspoken message said clearly and neatly,
"Pretty thing asking us to select the book, when he
had it all settled from the start!"
Nevertheless, I made no remark, but with my eyes on
the click of Sweetheart's knitting needles (for in
the intervals of nursery wars Sweetheart grows a
diligent housewife), I began in the restful silence
of that snowy Saturday my first tale from _The
Antiquary_.