‘Hilary was right. Every house-top, every window, every wall, every projection, had its occupants. Wild," said the turnkey, trembling in every joint. They stood back together and stared at it. “No,” said her brother, conclusively, “it’s not for a parent to go on persuading a child. You want to do everything with your mind. The knots and broken pale that made the garden-fence scalable, and gave access to the fields behind, were still to be traced. Were I a painter of subject pictures, I would exhaust all my skill in proportion and perspective and atmosphere upon the august seat of empire, I would present it gray and dignified and immense and respectable beyond any mere verbal description, and then, in vivid black and very small, I would put in those valiantly impertinent vans, squatting at the base of its altitudes and pouring out a swift, straggling rush of ominous little black objects, minute figures of determined women at war with the universe.
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