The breakfast-table was spread at the farm, and all were assembled except Netta.
'Owen, go and call Netta,' said Mr Prothero, seating himself before some smoking rashers of bacon; 'she's always late, I'll say that for her.'
Owen did his father's bidding, but returned exclaiming,—
'She is up and out of her room. There must be something wonderful to make her go out before breakfast.'
'Such a lovely morning,' said Mrs Prothero, 'I daresay she is in the garden.'
'Well, let her find her way in,' said the farmer; 'she knows the hour, and we'll fall to. Say grace, mother, if you please.'
Mrs Prothero said grace, and the trio sat down to breakfast.
'I expect brother Jo and Mrs Jonathan to-day,' said Mr Prothero; 'they are going to a clerical meeting, and are coming here on their way back.'
'Dear me!' said Mrs Prothero. 'What can we have for dinner?'
'Eggs and bacon. What better?' said the farmer. 'But you needn't be afraid, they 'ont come till tea. Owen, I wish you'd just look out and see after that idle slut Netta.'