"Oh, no!" Theodore retorted scornfully, "of course not. You're always saying, 'I wish you'd be more like Master Jack,'" he proceeded, mimicking her tone. "I'm not like him, so what's the good of wishing me to be?"
"Do as Jane tells you at once, Theodore," Mrs. Barton said quietly, in the tone which her little stepson knew he must obey whether he liked doing so or not. "Sit down, like a good boy."
At that moment the carriage swerved around a corner rather sharply, and Theodore was nearly thrown off his feet. He sat down then, looking exceedingly foolish; and in a few minutes more they arrived at their destination, where they were greeted by the farmer and his wife—the former a big, silent man; the latter a small, cherry-cheeked woman, with a pair of bright blue eyes, and a brisk, business-like manner. She escorted her lodgers to her best parlour—which was a comfortable apartment with a low ceiling, oak-panelled walls, and a broad, cushioned window-sill—and smiled complacently when she noted the satisfaction on their faces.
"I am glad tea is ready," Theodore remarked, his eyes roving over the table, where a substantial meal was laid. "Aren't you hungry, Jack?"
"Not very," Jack answered; "but I'm very tired."
Mrs. Barton and Jane had gone upstairs, whilst Mr. Barton was still outside in conversation with the farmer, Mrs. Fry and her husband had not lived long at Blackburn Farm, and consequently knew but little of their landlord; therefore, it was quite natural Mrs. Fry should think that Theodore and Jack were real brothers.
"Your brother does not look so strong as you do," she remarked to Theodore as she made some trifling alteration to the tea-table.
"No," Theodore returned promptly; "Jack used to be very ill, but he's much better now. Father says he expects the moorland air will make him quite strong."
"It was my back," Jack explained. "I hurt it, and for years I couldn't walk at all."
Mrs. Fry expressed her sympathy, and continued talking to the boys.