Here the boy raised his eyes and asked:
"Why is it that prophets have no honor among their own people? Is it because they too have to be seen from a great distance in order to seem grand? I heard mamma say the other day that if some book written in America had only come from England everybody would be raving about it."
"Some other time, Felix, we will talk of that problem. Hattie, you look sleepy."
"I think it will be lunch time before we get home," replied the yawning child.
Sir Roger took her by her shoulders, and shook her gently, saying:
"Come, wake up, little sweetheart! How can you get sleepy or hungry with all these handsome pictures staring at you from the walls?"
The good-natured child laughed; but her brother, who had an unconquerable aversion to Sir Roger's huge whiskers, curled his lips, and exclaimed scornfully:
"Hattie, you ought to be ashamed of yourself! Hungry, indeed! You are almost as bad as that English lady—, who, when her husband was admiring some beautiful lambs, and called her attention to them, answered, 'Yes, lambs are beautiful—boiled!'"
Desirous of conciliating him, Sir Roger replied:
"When you and Hattie come to see me in England, I will show you the most beautiful lambs in the United Kingdom; and your sister shall have boiled lamb three times a day, if she wishes it. Miss Earl, you are so fond of paintings that you would enjoy a European tour more than any lady whom I have met in this country. I have seen miles of canvas in Boston, New York and Philadelphia, but very few good pictures."