o my
mother a year or two before she died, but we could never make it as
she did. When we were children she used sometimes to send her
respects to my mother, and ask leave for us to come and take tea
with her. Right well she used to ply us. As for her temper, we
never met such a delightful old lady in our lives; whatever Mr
Pontifex may have had to put up with, we had no cause for complaint,
and then Mr Pontifex would play to us upon the organ, and we would
stand round him open-mouthed and think him the most wonderfully
clever man that ever was born, except of course our papa.
Mrs Pontifex had no sense of humour, at least I can call to mind no
signs of this, but her husband had plenty of fun in him, though few
would have guessed it from his appearance. I remember my father
once sent me down to his workship to get some glue, and I happened
to come when old Pontifex was in the act of scolding his boy. He
had got the lad--a pudding-headed fellow--by the ear and was saying,
"What? Lost again--smothered o