'Nor ever failed to lose your temper either, if I suggested you would,' I answered.
So Sam grinned and felt better, and made a long arm for the kettle, and brewed tea, and cut up bread and cream, and we had it in the Hickley Woods, as we've had it millions of times together. It was just the same. Whenever I had finished my slice, Sam put another on my plate, with mountains of cream and jam on it. At the third I remarked,—
'Sam, there really are limits.'
'Yes, but you ain't reached them yet, miss; four's yours.'
'Do you think you ought to speak to me like that, now I am married and have a daughter, Sam?'
'He gets you muddled up with the daughter, I expect, same as I do,' remarked Ross, 'only the Gidger is so much more sober and serious-minded than you're ever likely to be.'
'Four,' I called out; 'limit's reached, Sam.'
'Well, there isn't any more cream, anyway,' said Sam, which, of course, was the one and only reason why we stopped in Hickley Woods.
'I begin to feel better,' observed my brother. 'Why don't I have enough to eat at lunch, Meg, I do at breakfast?'
'I see to your breakfast,' said Sam, 'and I'd see you had a good lunch if only I was allowed down.'