"Oh, yes, my Granny!" he answered somewhat thoughtlessly, as he obeyed her directions. Then continued without pause: "I wanted to ask you—why does Cook always make rice-puddings, and tapioca-puddings, and sago-puddings for my dinner?"
"Because, my pet, I tell her to," she replied. "They are so wholesome, so good for little boys; they make them grow big."
"But I don't mind about growing big," he answered. "I would rather have roly-poly puddings for my dinner; roly-poly puddings what have lots of jam inside."
"Now, how do you think I am to get on with my writing whilst you chatter like this?" interrupted Uncle Godfrey. "Go upstairs, and don't keep Briggs waiting like this."
By the little beggar's expression, it was evident that he did not consider the merits of roly-poly pudding, as compared with those of its less enticing rivals, had been by any means sufficiently discussed, and that much yet remained to be said upon the subject. Nevertheless, his uncle's order had the effect of restoring, for a time at least, peace and quiet to the hall; for, as I have before intimated, the one person whose word Chris never thought of disputing was Uncle Godfrey's.
I said that peace and quiet was restored for a time only, and I said it advisedly. With the little beggar in the neighbourhood it was useless to count on such a state of affairs continuing for more than a short period. So it proved upon the present occasion.
Before a quarter of an hour had passed, his voice—unmistakably defiant, not to say impertinent—fell upon our ears, as he and Briggs walked along the gallery, that ran above, round the hall. It was Briggs whom we heard first.
"Master Chris," she remarked severely, "I will not stand it."
Then the little beggar repeated in an irritating and rebellious-sounding treble: