“I've sold another story, Chickies,” she said; “the one about the King of the Mussels, so there'll be buns for tea. You can go and get them as soon as they're baked. About eleven, isn't it?”
Peter, Phyllis, and Bobbie exchanged glances with each other, six glances in all. Then Bobbie said:—
“Mother, would you mind if we didn't have the buns for tea to-night, but on the fifteenth? That's next Thursday.”
“I don't mind when you have them, dear,” said Mother, “but why?”
“Because it's Perks's birthday,” said Bobbie; “he's thirty-two, and he says he doesn't keep his birthday any more, because he's got other things to keep—not rabbits or secrets—but the kids and the missus.”
“You mean his wife and children,” said Mother.
“Yes,” said Phyllis; “it's the same thing, isn't it?”
“And we thought we'd make a nice birthday for him. He's been so awfully jolly decent to us, you know, Mother,” said Peter, “and we agreed that next bun-day we'd ask you if we could.”
“But suppose there hadn't been a bun-day before the fifteenth?” said Mother.
“Oh, then, we meant to ask you to let us anti—antipate it, and go without when the bun-day came.”