“I wasn’t grumbling,” said Cyril quite untruly; “but it does always happen like that.”
“You deserve to have something happen,” said old Nurse. “Slave, slave, slave for you day and night, and never a word of thanks. ...”
“Why, you do everything beautifully,” said Anthea.
“It’s the first time any of you’s troubled to say so, anyhow,” said Nurse shortly.
“What’s the use of saying?” inquired Robert. “We eat our meals fast enough, and almost always two helps. That ought to show you!”
“Ah!” said old Nurse, going round the table and putting the knives and forks in their places; “you’re a man all over, Master Robert. There was my poor Green, all the years he lived with me I never could get more out of him than ‘It’s all right!’ when I asked him if he’d fancied his dinner. And yet, when he lay a-dying, his last words to me was, ‘Maria, you was always a good cook!’” She ended with a trembling voice.
“And so you are,” cried Anthea, and she and Jane instantly hugged her.
When she had gone out of the room Anthea said—
“I know exactly how she feels. Now, look here! Let’s do a penance to show we’re sorry we didn’t think about telling her before what nice cooking she does, and what a dear she is.”
“Penances are silly,” said Robert.