Well, I dare say it is nothing very funny.

Yes, we will swear!" "Well, then, Sir Roger--I _hear_ Bobby laughing!" "He is not!"-- "He is not!"-- "I am not!--I am only beginning to sneeze!" "Well, then, Sir Roger--" I come to a dead stop.
"_Sir Roger ?_ What about him?
There is not a smile on one of our faces: if you do not believe, look for yourself!--What about our future benefactor ?" "He _is_ not our future benefactor," cry I, energetically, whisking swiftly round to face them again, and dropping my hands, "he _never_ will be!--he does not _want_ to be! He wants to--to--to MARRY ME! there!" The murder is out.

The match is set to the gunpowder train.

Now for the explosion! The clock-hand reaches the quarter--passes it; but in all the assembly there is no sound.

The westering sun shines in on four open mouths (the youthful Tou Tou is absent), on four pairs of stupidly-staring eyes.