when Mrs. Orange came to look after baby.  Mrs. Orange had left
baby on a shelf near Mr. Orange while he played at beggar-my-
neighbour, and had asked him to keep his eye upon her now and then.

'Most charmingly, my dear!' said Mrs. Orange.  'So droll to see
their little flirtations and jealousies!  Do come and look!'

'Much obliged to you, my dear,' said Mr. Orange; 'but I don't care
about children myself.'

So Mrs. Orange, having seen that baby was safe, went back without
Mr. Orange to the room where the children were having supper.

'What are they doing now?' said Mrs. Orange to Mrs. Alicumpaine.

'They are making speeches, and playing at parliament,' said Mrs.
Alicumpaine to Mrs. Orange.

On hearing this, Mrs. Orange set off once more back again to Mr.
Orange, and said, 'James dear, do come.  The children are playing
at parliament.'

'Thank you, my dear,' said Mr. Orange, 'but I don't care about
parliament myself.'

So Mrs. Orange went once again without Mr. Orange to the room where
the children were having supper, to see them playing at parliament.
And she found some of the boys crying, 'Hear, hear, hear!' while
other boys cried 'No, no!' and others, 'Question!' 'Spoke!' and all
sorts of nonsense that ever you heard.  Then one of those tiresome
fat boys who had stopped the doorway told them he was on his legs
(as if they couldn't see that he wasn't on his head, or on his
anything else) to explain, and that, with the permission of his
honourable friend, if he would allow him to call him so (another
tiresome boy bowed), he would proceed to explain.  Then he went on
for a long time in a sing-song (whatever he meant), did this
troublesome fat boy, about that he held in his hand a glass; and
about that he had come down to that house that night to discharge
what he would call a public duty; and about that, on the present
occasion, he would lay his hand (his other hand) upon his heart,
and would tell honourable gentlemen that he was about to open the
door to general approval.  Then he opened the door by saying, 'To
our hostess!' and everybody else said 'To our hostess!' and then
there were cheers.  Then another tiresome boy started up in sing-
song, and then half a dozen noisy and nonsensical boys at once.
But at last Mrs. Alicumpaine said, 'I cannot have this din.  Now,
children, you have played at parliament very nicely; but parliament
gets tiresome after a little while, and it's time you left off, for
you will soon be fetched.'

After another dance (with more tearing to rags than before supper),
they began to be fetched; and you will be very glad to be told that
the tiresome fat boy who had been on his legs was walked off first
without any ceremony.  When they were all gone, poor Mrs.
Alicumpaine dropped upon a sofa, and said to Mrs. Orange, 'These
children will be the death of me at last, ma'am, - they will
indeed!'

'I quite adore them, ma'am,' said Mrs. Orange; 'but they DO want
variety.'

Mr. Orange got his hat, and Mrs. Orange got her bonnet and her
baby, and they set out to walk home.  They had to pass Mrs. Lemon's
preparatory establishment on their way.

'I wonder, James dear,' said Mrs. Orange, looking up at the window,
'whether the precious children are asleep!'

'I don't care much whether they are or not, myself,' said Mr.
Orange.

'James dear!'

'You dote upon them, you know,' said Mr. Orange.  'That's another
thing.'

'I do,' said Mrs. Orange rapturously.  'O, I DO!'

'I don't,' said Mr. Orange.

'But I was thinking, James love,' said Mrs. Orange, pressing his
arm, 'whether our dear, good, kind Mrs. Lemon would like them to
stay the holidays with her.'

'If she was paid for it, I daresay she would,' said Mr. Orange.

'I adore them, James,' said Mrs. Orange, 'but SUPPOSE we pay her, then!'

This was what brought that country to such perfection, and made it
such a delightful place to live in.  The grown-up people (that
would be in other countries) soon left off being allowed any
holidays after Mr. and Mrs. Orange tried the experiment; and the
children (that would be in other countries) kept them at school as
long as ever they lived, and made them do whatever they were told.

End of Project Gutenberg's Etext of Holiday Romance, by Charles Dickens