But they eat so much pudding, and wear out so many boots, that they are all too poor to live anywhere except in barracks." Christopher laid down his spoon, and looked as he always looks when he is hearing a sad story.
"Is barracks like the workhouse, Aunt Catherine ?" he asked.
"A good deal like the workhouse," said Aunt Catherine.

Then she went on--"I told her Mother I could not begin calling at the barracks.
There are some very low streets close by, and my coachman said he couldn't answer for his horses with bugles, and perhaps guns, going off when you least expect them.

I told her I would ask them to dinner; and I did, but they were engaged.

Well, yesterday I changed my mind, and I told Harness that I meant to go to the barracks, and the horses would have to take me.

So we started.