"He's about right," Peggy said. "Look down the table, Elizabeth—Elspeth, I mean."
A long line of men and boys, with only an occasional woman sandwiched in between, faced them. They were all eating steadily and industriously with their knives. At intervals they would stretch a far-reaching hand for more supplies, or nudge a neighbour, and indicate with a grunt a plate of food that was out of their reach. Peggy began to choke with suppressed merriment.
"Look, look, there comes old Samuel Swift," she said. "Would you think they would let him in? Oh, isn't he an outrageous old creature? Who is he, anyway, Elspeth? Do you know? Where did he come from?"
"He's a sort of—of relation of mine," Elizabeth said, bravely.
"Cousin Samuel," Peggy cried. "Do you think we ought to invite him to come and sit beside us? Oh, dear, I wish you'd pinch me. I'm afraid I'll have hysterics if I don't stop seeing the funny side of everything."
"I'm having—having trouble on my own account," giggled Elizabeth.
"Where's Madget?" Peggy gasped.
Madget's empty seat confronted them accusingly.
"She got bashful, and went under the table," Mabel said. "She has those bashful spells. I give her a piece of bread and butter."
Madget, secure from embarrassment in this seclusion, ate everything that her thoughtful brother and sister provided her with, impartially. Her pink chambray suffered from contact with the dusty floor and the butter and chocolate icing.