"It is easier said than done, my little son," Mrs. Orban answered, bending low over her sewing that the child might not see the tears his question had brought to her eyes. "Father must work."
"But couldn't he work in England just as well as Queensland?" asked Peter.
"Unfortunately not," said his mother sadly. "Work is not easy to get in England, or anywhere for the matter of that."
Eustace caught the note of sadness in his mother's voice, and strolling behind Peter he gave him a kick on the ankle with all the air of its being accidental.
"Ow-wow-wow!" exclaimed Peter, hopping on one leg and holding on to the other. "You hurt me."
"Sorry," said Eustace carelessly, following him across the veranda.
"La, la, la! dolly upside downey," crooned Becky from the floor, where she sat deeply engaged in trying to make her boy doll stand on its head as she had seen Eustace do.
"Look here," said Eustace under cover of Becky's singing, "don't ask stupid questions, Peter. It always makes mother feel bad to talk about England—any silly could see that without being told, I should think."
But Peter looked surprised.
"Then you kicked me on purpose," he said, no louder than Eustace had spoken.